


waiting here forevermore

by thecoquimonster



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Snake!Crowley - Freeform, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-03-09 23:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecoquimonster/pseuds/thecoquimonster
Summary: Once upon a time, in the beginning, the Serpent was cursed to be a serpent forever unless he and another fell in love before the last petal fell.





	1. the prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what's going on here. I just watched Beauty and the Beast a few weeks ago and started writing it.
> 
> I decided to have it set during the Beginning because lately I've been having a lot of Eden Thoughts. And I know that the appeal of Aziraphale/Crowley is that it's 6000 years of slow burn goodness but I really couldn't imagine this any other way. I hope it works out, anyway, and that the development feels organic.
> 
> The angel Jophiel is sometimes thought to be the angel guarding the Eastern Gate and casting Adam and Eve from Eden; Aziraphale takes his place in Good Omens so I figured I'd boot Jophiel to the Southern Gate.
> 
> Aziraphale is a principality. I know a lot of people headcanon him as having been "demoted" after Eden, but I think that a principality can guard one gate of Eden and an archangel can guard another. No big deal. Work is work, after all. Plus like, the image of St. Michael the Archangel being some little kid's guardian angel is too hilarious and cute, so I'm rolling with it!
> 
> I have no idea what I'm doing, just to reiterate. But I figured I might as well post the first chapter on St. Valentine's Day, like everyone else is doing, because I'm a sap, like everyone else is.

Crawly didn’t like Hell. He didn’t think any demons did, really. But he was possibly the only demon to do anything about it. He escaped to Earth, shaking off the serpentine form he had been wearing since his Fall.

Eventually Satan would find out about his new residence on Earth, but Crawly pushed it out of his mind. If anyone came to collect him, he could just say that he had been going to tempt the humans into sin themselves. How could they punish someone who was showing such great initiative and loyalty to their cause?

He wondered if he would be able to sneak into Eden. Now that thousands of angels had fallen from grace, it must be heavily guarded. Crawly wandered through the outside of Eden, looking for a break in the wall.

This was how he found himself at the Southern Gate of Eden, with the archangel Jophiel pointing his flaming sword at Crawly’s throat.

“What is your business here, demon?” Jophiel asked.

“I—” Crawly began, feeling the words die before coming out of his mouth. Would an angel even believe him if he told the truth? He felt like he was damned whatever he said; Jophiel would not believe the truth, and the story about tempting humanity would surely get him killed.

“I will not tolerate any demons entering Eden. You will not cause Man to Fall,” said Jophiel.

Crawly flinched back. He hadn’t even had to say anything. Jophiel had assumed. But of course that would be what he would assume. Crawly wanted to argue, but before he could open his mouth, Jophiel had begun to speak again.

Jophiel held fire in his eyes, hot as the flaming sword. Crawly had not been near the holy Light in a long time, and he flinched back.

“You have done nothing yet,” said Jophiel, as though turning an idea over in his mind. “I will not smite you today, Serpent.” In his other hand, the angel produced a twig taken from one of the trees of Eden. It was blooming with flowers; Crawly did not know what sort of tree it was. “And a Serpent you shall be forevermore— _unless_ you and another should fall in love before the last apple petal falls.”

Jophiel was becoming too hard to look at directly. Crawly closed his eyes as Jophiel’s true form flashed. He was glad he did—the holy Light was burning him. He felt his body fold in itself and he gasped with fear. His skin became scaly; his limbs shortened and melded to his sides until he had none. Crawly’s eyes were forced open. He tried to blink them closed and he couldn’t. His eyelids had ceased to be. Nausea rolled in his stomach. Crawly let out a distressed cry.

“I hear demons do not love,” said Jophiel with a harsh laugh. “This is your chance to prove me wrong. Now back to Hell where you came from. And good luck, Serpent.”

He didn’t sound genuine at all. But Crawly swallowed thickly and obeyed the archangel, afraid that worse would come to him if he didn’t. He picked up the twig, careful that none of the petals fell as he slithered away.

He weaved through the trees, as fast as his body would take him. Once he had left Eden behind him, he decided he would not go into Hell proper. Despite all that had happened, he could not return to Hell. All that held there was more pain. And these sweet petals might all burn off instantly.

Oh, but did it matter? Really? Jophiel had been right. Demons did not love. Whatever time these petals gave him would not matter. Crawly wished he could cry, because the despair in his chest was crushing. He pushed it down and flicked his tongue out, trying to get a good idea of his surroundings. Trees towered over him.

With difficulty, he began to climb a tree. He kept the apple blooms securely in his mouth and stretched up. A bit of excitement sparked through him as he found his scales giving him traction. He could learn to live like this, a serpent. It was his only choice. Crawly looked out into the outskirts of Limbo.

The forest tapered from bright green deciduous trees into conifers, and that was where Crawly decided he would make his new home. On the very edge of Limbo.

That was where Crawly would find his new everything.

He had a harder time climbing back down from the tree. By the time he had reached the forest floor again, a petal had fallen off.

 _No, no, no!_ He was certain his climbing had shaken it off. Crawly wondered the rate the petals would fall, and if it would matter.

Who would he even find to fall in love with? Another demon? Perhaps if there was another demon like him. But would that demon love him? He doubted it. Demons probably couldn’t even love. It was the very reason the archangel had cursed him this way.

Crawly was gentler with the blossoms. He still wanted to care for them.

He lifted his head as the ground beneath him fell into a steep downhill. At the end of his trek down, he came to face with the opening of a cave. It was beautiful; trees and ferns protected the entrance. Crawly could hardly believe his luck. He would spend the majority of his time in this bright opening, surrounded by the walls of the cavern, and would retreat into the darker zones when necessary.

He slithered over into a hollow tree, and placed his precious blooms inside, where a hole in the log would provide some light for it. Somehow, he felt as though he should protect it despite the false hopes it represented for him.

Crawly coiled himself up on the top of the log. He would explore more of the cavern tomorrow. But for the time being, he was tired. He needed to process all that had happened.

He would no longer be Crawly. He was not quite outside of Hell’s reach, but he was confident they wouldn’t find him. Heaven would not come, either. Heaven _couldn’t_ come, not here. He would be alone, for as long as the flowers bloomed and forever after the last petal had fallen. And so he could be whoever he liked.

The sun fell behind the trees and Crowley fell into a slumber.


	2. the great wide somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually had planned on posting this with the first chapter, but I didn't. Good thing, too, because I did need to polish it up a bit.

A bird’s call woke Aziraphale. He started and flushed with embarrassment; angels were not meant to sleep. But what was there to worry about, really? There had been no sign of any trouble since Jophiel’s confrontation with a demon long ago.

He was glad that it had been taken care of. Who knew what might have happened had Jophiel not chased the demon off? Aziraphale didn’t want to think of it. Adam and Eve were unburdened; they did not need to know of Hell and its fallen angels.

Aziraphale shook himself and stretched his wings. They were a bit messy. He would have to preen them soon, but for now he relished the gentle breeze brushing his feathers. Perhaps he would let Eve do it again. He often caught her admiring his white wings, and many times he would ask her to help him groom them.

He wondered if any of the other angels guarding Eden were so close with Adam and Eve. They must have been.

Aziraphale turned to find his sword leaned on a tree, just as he’d left it. He took it in his hand and walked a few paces to the Eastern Gate, which was not as he had left it.

The Eastern Gate of Eden had been pushed open.

He blanched with horror. The one time he had fallen asleep on the job! Who knew what that demon could have gotten up to? Who knew how long the demon had even been there?

As always, Aziraphale agonized over entering the Garden. He was not supposed to leave his post. But he would never refuse when Adam and Eve called out to him for company. He could not stay outside of Eden when they needed his protection. He stepped through the Gate and into Eden.

It really was a Paradise, thought Aziraphale. Just as beautiful as Heaven. In a different way. Aziraphale found himself loving it a bit more than he should, a bit more than Heaven itself. But God was all around here as well, and wouldn’t his Father be pleased that His angels loved His other creations as well?

If only Aziraphale could find those creations.

 “Adam?” he called. “Eve? Are you here?”

There was no answer. Aziraphale began to worry. First, he checked the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Sometimes Adam and Eve were curious about it. But they had never dared to touch it, let alone eat of it, for which Aziraphale was intensely grateful.

Adam and Eve were nowhere in sight.

He switched tactics. Aziraphale would find the demon first.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on finding a demonic aura. All he could feel was the Light and love of God. Aziraphale bit back a frustrated whine.

He headed back to the Eastern Gate. A thought struck him as he passed through the open gate.

_Could they have?_

It was the only explanation.

But leaving the Garden of Eden? On their own? And for what purpose? Eden was a Paradise. What could Adam and Eve be seeking that was not in the Garden itself?

Aziraphale’s grip tightened on his sword. He closed the gate and looked out into the forest, gaze locking on crushed ferns. They had been heading towards the southeast. He started on their trail.

He picked his way carefully through the forest. It was decidedly not as lush as the Garden of Eden. The leaves on the trees weren’t as vivid a green, and the humidity in the air was choking. But it was still clearly created lovingly by God’s hands.

Aziraphale shook himself. He was on a mission. He needed to find Adam and Eve, and he couldn’t allow himself to waste time admiring the Earth. He could always do it some other time. On the way back from wherever they’d gotten to, for instance.

He kept walking, feeling more unnerved with every step. Limbo was nearby—and Hell not much farther. There was still no sign of Adam or Eve.

When the forest thinned into more conifers, Aziraphale started to worry more. He should have called the other angels for backup. But he just hadn’t wanted anyone to find out about his misstep. He’d already been chastised for spending too much time around Earth. That was before he had been reassigned to guarding the Eastern Gate. Apparently, his Superior had found that the best way to deal with Aziraphale’s fascination was to indulge it.

This did not calm any of Aziraphale’s fears. Spending too much time on Earth was not as serious as letting the humans walk out of the Garden. He needed to fix this before the archangels guarding the Northern and Southern Gates discovered him.

Aziraphale missed a step and tripped. Instinctively he flared his wings out for balance, but it did nothing for him except to collide painfully with the trunk of a tree. He fell onto the ground, where there was a sudden downhill.

He gasped as he tumbled downhill; he had been on Earth but now he felt God’s love fading even further. In its place, demonic energy grew. He was truly entering Limbo now.

Ferns and thorns scraped his arms and his wings. He kept a tight grip on his sword, but he was also afraid that he might hurt himself with it. Luckily, he didn’t cut himself with his blade. He wasn’t able to check to see if the same was true of the brambles until he came to an abrupt stop.

Aziraphale spared himself a quick once-over. Minor cuts and bruises. He closed his eyes and healed himself before taking in his surroundings. He pulled in his wings, which hadn’t been too damaged but were still a bit sore. Aziraphale was encircled by walls of stone; plants grew up on the rocks all around him. He blinked and could see where he had fallen through. He turned and saw that behind him, the rock opened up into a proper cavern.

The vegetation was sparser, and the rocks were more jagged. It didn’t look _ugly_ , Aziraphale reasoned. But it was apparent that God had taken no joy in its creation. He had built this place out of necessity, not out of desire.

Aziraphale stood and brushed himself off. Adam and Eve were here, he was sure. Maybe they’d fallen, too, and had decided to take shelter inside the caves.  As he entered the cavern, Aziraphale lit his sword to provide better light inside.

“Adam?” he called again. “Eve?”

There was what seemed like a fork in the cavern. Aziraphale could not sense human auras, so he chose the path with what felt like the least amount of demonic energy. He made sure to call out their names softly. He really did not want to find any demons here. The sooner he found Adam and Eve, the sooner they could leave and put this behind them.

He sucked in a breath as he heard a stifled cry. He rushed towards the sound, hoping to grab his humans and fly out of here. Aziraphale found Adam and Eve collapsed in on themselves. The flames of Aziraphale’s sword flickered, but he willed for them to remain steady.

Adam lifted a hand, as though in greeting. Then he lowered it again, tangling his fingers in Eve’s hair as she cried into his chest.

“Eve?” asked Aziraphale, stepping forward.

She looked up at him, her brown eyes catching the light of the flames. Eve looked utterly without hope. She huddled closer to Adam and glanced away. Aziraphale had only ever seen _shame_ on the faces of other angels.

Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his face. He had checked, back in the Garden—but was he sure, could he be _certain_ —

“Eve?” he asked. “Adam? Did you eat from the Tree of Knowledge?”

Adam shook his head. “I swear to you, Aziraphale, we didn’t.”

“Then why…?” Aziraphale shook himself. It didn’t matter. He held out his other hand to help them up onto their feet. “Come with me. We need to leave.”

“We can’t,” Eve gasped. “Aziraphale, you don’t know—”

“I’ll let you groom my wings after this,” Aziraphale promised, trying to calm her. He began to lead them back through the direction he came. “We need to hurry. Quickly, now. We don’t want any demons to find us.”

“But Aziraphale—” said Adam as they broke free of the darkness of the cavern.

Aziraphale ignored him. He raised his head, searching for the best escape route. Aziraphale wished he could simply fly them all out of here. He didn’t know if he could carry both of them, for one thing. He needed to find a wall with a gentler slope. Unfortunately, they all looked just as steep as the other.

He decided that it might be best to go back the way he’d fallen. He began to head in that direction.

A hiss interrupted his thoughts. “What’ssss thissss?”

His head whipped upwards, towards the sound of the voice. For a moment, Aziraphale saw nothing. But then the owner of the voice came into view, slithering before them on a tree branch. He was blocking their escape. The dark scales of the serpent caught the harsh light. His unblinking golden eyes glowered. Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably; that gaze could pierce his very soul.

Aziraphale’s grip on his sword tightened.

“An essssscape attempt?” asked the serpent. “Now, that won’t do. I try to be a graciousss hosssst.”

“They aren’t meant to be here,” Aziraphale said, willing for holy fire to lick his sword. “Let us leave.”

The demon tensed, but Aziraphale couldn’t tell whether it was from fear or defiance. “I will not. It was _your_ choice to come into Hell.”

“This is Limbo,” said Aziraphale.

“Same difference.”

Aziraphale lost his temper. They would not stay down here, he would make sure of it. He did not want to kill this demon—Hell might notice and double their efforts against Heaven’s forces. But Aziraphale needed to bring Adam and Eve back home, whatever the cost might be. He swung his sword at the serpent.

The demon dodged its blade, but the flames brushed against his scales. Those golden eyes glinted dangerously. The serpent reared up and hissed, spitting in Aziraphale’s face. Before Aziraphale saw his chance to slash at him again, the serpent lunged forward. The angel fell back, raising his sword as a defense.

He would not have admitted it to many, but he was not the best swordfighter. Aziraphale had not had much cause to practice. He had not even been in Heaven during the War and subsequent Fall. He’d been down in Eden, keeping the new humans company.

“Please!” said Eve, stepping forward. Aziraphale might have admired her courage, but she had obviously interrupted the fight because it had distressed her. “Please. I didn’t know—we didn’t know. We were just curious. I want to go home. Please. I want to go home.”

The serpent considered her. He backed away, letting his gaze rove over the angel and two humans. His forked tongue flicked out. He climbed down the tree, landing by Aziraphale’s feet. Aziraphale flinched away from the serpent; he was not sure if he would strike out at him. But the demon made no move to harm Aziraphale. Instead, he spoke. His voice was steady and did not make an attempt at sounding menacing. “I will allow a trade. The two humans can go. The angel stays.”

“No!” Adam snapped. “There will be no trade. Aziraphale, can’t you fly us out?”

“Surely not both of you,” said the serpent, not unkindly. “Someone must stay.”

Aziraphale loosened his grip on his sword, and the flames sputtered out. “You swear you’ll let them go?”

“I’ll even help them,” the serpent swore. His voice sounded perfectly sincere, and Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “To sssweeten the deal for you.”

Aziraphale swallowed. He was certain the serpent would not allow Aziraphale to go. He was much too intelligent for that. The serpent could not risk Aziraphale running to Heaven for backup. Aziraphale would have to stay regardless. And so his real choices were to let Adam and Eve go, or all three of them would have to stay here, in Limbo—in Hell.

Aziraphale’s heart contracted. How could he stay here? He couldn’t feel God anywhere—except perhaps, within himself. The pure isolation that colored the demonic auras surrounding him nearly overtook the flicker of God’s heavenly Light in his own soul. But he had to stay. Aziraphale killed the lump starting to form in his throat and stumbled to his feet.

He turned to Adam and Eve. “Take it,” he told them, handing Eve his sword. “This will protect you in my stead.”

“No,” said Eve. Tears pooled in her eyes. Her fingers curled around the hilt, even as she shook her head. “No, no. Aziraphale, no. Angels don’t belong in Hell.”

He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “My dear, neither do humans.”

“Please,” Eve begged.

“Go,” Aziraphale ordered. Now that he had made his decision, his voice pushed out of him with a harsh, jagged edge. “The two of you go—back to Eden. Go back home.”

The serpent watched this without a word. He let Adam and Eve pass. A path cleared in front of them, and Eve, gripping Aziraphale’s sword with pale knuckles, led Adam away. The serpent shifted his gaze to Aziraphale, as though to make sure the angel would not try to escape with them. But Aziraphale stood still.

Eve glanced back one more time at the angel and the snake. Then the path closed around them, and Adam and Eve were gone.

 “Well!” said the serpent. “Now that’s settled. Would you like to go back into the caverns? It’s hellishly hot out here. You can’t be comfortable. There’s this one part of the cave—perfect temperature! And it’s nearby this underground river. It just sings you to sleep.”

Aziraphale, who didn’t think he would ever be sleeping again after this, did not respond to the demon’s false pleasantries. “Will my captor reveal his name?”

“‘Captor?’” the serpent echoed, slightly horrified.

“You _are_ keeping me here forever,” Aziraphale reasoned. “Unless you plan on killing me. If that _is_ the case, I suggest you get on to it.”

If a snake could look nauseated, he did. “Pleassse… try to think of me as more of a host. I’m not much for killing, really. But I can’t have you going up and telling your siblings in Heaven, you understand.”

Aziraphale looked up at the sky and refused to let tears build in his eyes. He didn’t know if the demon was being honest about not killing him. He’d never met a demon who wasn’t “much for killing.” He’d never met a demon before at all, but he’d always thought that they would leap at the chance to kill an angel.

“Crowley,” said the serpent. “Call me Crowley.”

“Aziraphale.”

Crowley let out a light laugh. “The names you angels get stuck with!”

“I don’t think Beelzebub or Mephistopheles is any better,” Aziraphale muttered, painfully aware he couldn’t come up with any retort about the name _Crowley_. It was too perfect a name.

“True enough. But don’t you dare say anything like that again down here,” Crowley said. He glided over the floor, towards the mouth of the cavern. “Now follow me. You need some place to stay, after all.”

Aziraphale was a step behind him as they entered the cavern. Immediately upon going under the shade, it cooled. As he followed Crowley into the dark, he found himself missing his sword. At the very least it would have provided him some light. He wondered if he could manifest some torches, but before he could try, little bursts of flame lit their path every few feet.

Surprisingly, Aziraphale felt a twinge of annoyance at this. There was no way around it: he was Crowley’s prisoner. Why was the serpent trying to make him comfortable? Why was Crowley engaging in idle chitchat with him and joking around?

Crowley led him to the cavern he had described. The river gurgled nearby, and there were bioluminescent plants growing on the walls.  Aziraphale figured that it was as nice as Hell could be. Crowley looked up at him expectantly, but the angel didn’t know what he wanted him to say. He stared back.

“Do you, er—” Crowley moved as though he were trying to shift the feet he didn’t have. “Do you eat? Do you want anything?”

 _To go back to Earth,_ Aziraphale wanted to reply, but he merely shook his head.

For a moment, Crowley lingered. He opened his mouth once or twice, as if to speak. He sighed and bowed his head, leaving without another word.

Aziraphale allowed himself to let out a choked whimper. He closed his eyes and slid down onto the floor of the cave. Burying his face into his knees, Aziraphale tried to feel for divinity that wasn’t there. He could only feel the faint spark from his own aura asking him, _Where are you, Aziraphale? My angels don’t belong in Hell._


	3. for who could ever learn to love a beast?

Crowley slunk away, feeling terribly useless. How could he comfort an angel in Hell when his own Fall was still fresh in his mind? He knew all too well how isolating Hell felt after the warmth and constant presence of God’s grace. But at least Aziraphale hadn’t Fallen. He was an angel in Hell, but he wasn’t one of Hell’s angels.

He would never admit it, but his soul sometimes cried out for his Father even now. In fact, it might have been happening more frequently now that his apple blossoms had started to lose their petals in earnest.

It had not escaped his notice that he had an opportunity. Crowley couldn’t have imagined more perfect circumstances. He had an angel, stuck here with him, for the foreseeable future.

Would it be easy to get an angel to fall in love? Even when that person was a demon? Angels were beings whose purpose was to love; and more recently, smite demons. Could love itself be strong enough to destroy that secondary instinct?

Yet thinking about taking advantage of the situation made Crowley’s stomach churn and crumple. There were some things he did like about being a demon—but to woo Aziraphale would be utterly despicable, the lowest of lows.

As much as Crowley might want to sugarcoat it, calling Aziraphale a mere guest or visitor, the angel was right. He was Crowley’s prisoner. Crowkey squirmed a bit at the thought, but it was something he needed to face: he had kidnapped an angel.

Would he be comfortable with the idea of making Aziraphale fall in love with him despite all of this? No. How could he be? The very fact that he’d imprisoned Aziraphale in the first place filled him with horror and disgust.

Besides, to romance Aziraphale would be to ignore the true reason for his curse. Demons couldn’t love. All of his efforts would only result in fallen petals, an angel in love with a demon, and an unbroken spell.

It just wasn’t worth it. Perhaps Crowley _should_ let Aziraphale go home and wait for divine retribution. But hope was a stubborn thing, and it pulled out Crowley’s will to live from places he hadn’t thought to look for it.

Crowley curled himself up near the mouth of the cave and gazed outside. Somewhere beyond here, demons paced around Hell, faces twisted with bitterness. Satan continued to plan his revenge. It had been so long, and no one had come to look for Crowley. He was sure he’d been forgotten.

Somewhere beyond here, in the opposite direction, was Heaven missing Aziraphale?

He sighed and slithered out of the caverns, into the wooded area surrounded by the walls of stone. It had become Crowley’s routine to check on his apple blossoms each night before going to sleep. Crowley headed over to the hollowed log where he kept them. He peered inside. Relief flooded his body when he noticed that his flowers had not lost any more petals.

As best as Crowley could estimate, the petals had begun to wilt and drop off four weeks ago. They fell at irregular intervals. Two petals might fall on the same day, but then the blossoms would remain unchanged for over a week.

This was rather frustrating for Crowley. The random frequency of the falling petals made it impossible to gauge how much time he had left until the curse was truly permanent. A week? Fifty years? He would never be sure.

Crowley stared at the petals, asking himself why he even dared to hope.

He nuzzled the petals gently, and a sense of calm washed over him. Crowley’s tongue flicked out, taking in the sweet scent of the flowers. Eyeing the blooms to make certain that no petals would fall as he watched, he slowly turned and weaved through the fronds.

As he reached the mouth of the cavern once more, he heard the unmistakable footfall of the angel.

 _He’ll leave,_ Crowley thought worriedly. He breathed out a curse as he backtracked. Most of his panic was about the angel running off to tell Heaven. Crowley didn’t really… he didn’t really think that he would force Aziraphale to stay, if it came down to a physical battle between the two of them. That stunt he had pulled earlier—the trade. It had only gone so well because Aziraphale knew there had been no way to get both of the humans as well as himself to safety.

Crowley doubted his ability to overpower the angel—at least not while the angel had his weapon.

If he had wanted to, Aziraphale could have killed Crowley with that flaming sword. Now that he had given it away to those two humans, he and Crowley were both weaponless. But if Aziraphale’s job had been to guard one of Eden’s gates, Crowley was certain that he had to be a fearsome fighter and a powerful angel indeed.

He would not be able to trick Aziraphale like that to get him to _stay_.

Crowley followed the crunch of Aziraphale’s footsteps. There was a small break in the trees, and Aziraphale sat down, shoulders hunched. He raised one of his hands, which was holding a small object. Crowley realized it was a fruit—somewhere within the coniferous forest, Aziraphale had found an apple tree.

Crowley wondered if he should reveal himself. Aziraphale didn’t seem to be thinking about escaping. He was staring at the sky, quiet and forlorn.

Feeling terribly lonely and conflicted himself, Crowley slithered up to him.

“I know,” Aziraphale said bitterly as Crowley reached him. “I shouldn’t have left my cave. I can’t be out here. You need me to be a good, quiet little prisoner.”

Crowley opened and closed his mouth. Finally, he replied, “I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort.”

Aziraphale glanced down at him, the corners of his mouth dropping into a slight frown. He bit into his apple.

“So you do eat!” said Crowley. He’d imagined not. Angels and demons didn’t need to eat, after all, but he indulged in it now and again. He had assumed that angels would be stricter about that sort of thing.

Aziraphale regarded him coldly. “Yes, and?”

“We don’t have to eat.” Crowley inwardly cringed at himself for stating the obvious.

“I _like_ eating,” said Aziraphale with a pointed bite of his apple. He swallowed before continuing, “You offered me food earlier, so I thought I would take some.”

“Right, right, of course,” Crowley said. “I’m not angry at all. Just surprised. I didn’t expect angels to eat.”

Silence. Crowley flicked his tongue out again. Now that he’d shown himself and talked to him, he couldn’t very well leave Aziraphale to his own devices. The silence dripped with Aziraphale’s anger and Crowley’s awkwardness. He didn’t know how to restart the conversation, and was certain that he was the last person in creation with which Aziraphale would have liked to talk to. Which was rather fair, he supposed. But he simply could not stand it. Crowley had spent such a long time alone, but he was finding that being actively despised might be worse.

He might have apologized, but it would have fallen extremely flat. Crowley was still keeping Aziraphale here, wasn’t he? What sort of apology would that be?

Aziraphale finished off his apple and flung away the core. He blinked up at the dark night sky.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Crowley wondered. “The sky. I mean, I know this is Hell, but I’ve always rather liked that dark blue color.”

“There aren’t any stars.” Aziraphale sighed. “There aren’t even any stars down here.”

“Sure there are,” he blurted. “On the walls of your cavern. Those can be your stars now.”

“That is bioluminescent algae,” Aziraphale said. “They aren’t bloody _stars_.”

“Well. Pardon me, angel,” Crowley said with thinly veiled annoyance. “I was only trying to offer a different perspective.”

Aziraphale scowled at him. “And your _perspective_ , as you put it, is unwelcome. You’re the one keeping me in Hell. I could be seeing real stars. I could be—” his voice wavered. Aziraphale fixed him with a glare and said nothing more.

The angel was completely in the right, but to admit it would be a possible death sentence. It occurred to Crowley that it didn’t matter if Heaven missed Aziraphale or not. _Aziraphale_ clearly missed _Heaven_ , and on principle, they would return to smite the demon who had dared keep their brother angel prisoner.

On the verge of hissing, Crowley said, “I think it would be best if you went back inside. Staring at the sky won’t make stars appear.”

Without another word, Aziraphale stood, brushed off his robes, and headed in the direction of their cave.

Some of the tension in Crowley’s muscles relaxed. This did not lessen the guilt eating away at his stomach. He wondered just how badly a demon could feel, and if he would ever be close to reaching the limit.

.

In the days that followed, Crowley decided that it might be in his best interest if he kept his distance from the angel. He checked up on Aziraphale, who could often be found in his cavern staring down at the river, or leaning on a tree outside. But Crowley rarely initiated conversation. Hostility boiled underneath the surface of Aziraphale’s curt responses. As well-deserved as it might have been, Crowley did not feel up to quarreling every time he approached the angel.

Constantly having to defend himself was exhausting when he knew he was in the wrong. Crowley was pressured to go on the offensive instead—and when that inevitably failed, the more Aziraphale spun around and headed back to his cavern, the worse Crowley felt.

Today, Crowley watched Aziraphale shape a bowl from clay. His eyes were focused, hands never wavering from their task.

Crowley wondered what the bowl could be for, but didn’t dare ask. He didn’t even know where the angel had found clay. Aziraphale hadn’t said a word all day. He was sure that Aziraphale knew that he was there, but he hadn’t even glanced up from his work.

Sunset neared. Aziraphale finished his bowl, willing for the clay to dry and harden. He stood and glanced down at Crowley, which was the first time that he had even acknowledged Crowley’s presence that day. Crowley said nothing. Aziraphale blinked and walked in the direction of the cave’s mouth, still holding his bowl.

“Goodnight to you too,” said Crowley sulkily.

He stayed there for a few more minutes, until the sky had turned a deep pink. And then he set out to check on his petals. His apple blossoms had not lost any this week, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they started falling again.

Crowley slithered up to his blooms to see that they remained unchanged. Two things happened before he could let out a sigh of relief. The first was that a petal fell as he watched. The second was that, just as the petal touched the ground, Crowley felt demonic auras that were not his own.

He turned around, searching for them. He slithered off of the hollowed log where he kept his blossoms and into a thicker section of the woods. Gleaming eyes pierced through the darkening forest, and Crowley started as the two demons emerged.

Unfortunately, he recognized them, if only faintly. Their auras held the strength of Dukes of Hell. Iamaun, the shorter of the two, had bright red eyes that were eagerly sizing him up. She had short blond curls and wore a grin. Her companion, Unusas, was not as friendly. He was bone skinny and had eyes like coal.

Crowley swallowed. So much for Hell having forgotten about him.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hail Satan,” said Iamaun and Unusas, voices ringing through the trees.

“Yes, er, hail Satan, yes,” Crowley mumbled. He licked his lips and looked between the two. What on Earth were they here for?

“Was it really you, Crawly?” Unusas demanded. He leaned in too close, close enough that Crowley could smell his breath, and he forced himself not to back away from the other demon. Whatever Crowley had supposedly done, Unusas sounded like he couldn’t believe that Crowley could have gotten away with it.

“Er,” said Crowley, who only thought to reply with, “I go by Crowley, these days.”

“Fine. _Crowley_ ,” Iamaun said. She paused for a moment to bite at her nails. “Word’s got around that a Serpent temped Adam and Eve from the Garden. Could only be you. Took us quite a while to track you.”

“A-and why would you want to track me down?” asked Crowley, who would not confirm nor deny the claim until he knew for certain what these two wanted from him.

Unusas crossed his arms. “To give you a commendation, of course.”

“You singlehandedly made Man _fall_!” Iamaun praised. “Satan was delighted.”

Crowley, who didn’t _really_ do anything of the sort, simply nodded along. He began to wonder how long Iamaun and Unusas would be here. He twitched uncomfortably, hoping that the extra demonic energy would adequately overpower Aziraphale’s angelic presence. Crowley didn’t want the angel to be discovered by the other demons.

He could imagine the scene now.

And then Iamaun’s chattering stopped abruptly as Unusas shook her arm, and Crowley didn’t have to imagine it.

“There’s an angel here,” said Unusas.

Iamaun’s grin melted off her face and she narrowed her eyes. “What is going on?”

“I took an angel for prisoner,” Crowley put in quickly. “I’m really letting him have it—he hasn’t even been able to speak for days.”

Iamaun’s eyes glinted. “An _angel_ prisoner? Crowley, do you realize how wonderful this is? You could get _promoted._ ”

Shit. Shit.

“Could we have a turn?” Unusas asked, mouth curling upwards into a smile.

_Shit._

The question was merely a formality, because Unusas and Iamaun pushed past Crowley in search of the source of angelic energy. Crowley had no choice but to follow them. When they made a turn _away_ from the mouth of the cave, Crowley reached out with his own powers, feeling for the angel’s aura. Unusas and Iaman were right. Aziraphale was not in the cavern right now.

Had Aziraphale felt the spike in demonic auras and decided to flee?

Crowley found himself hoping this was the case.

They were gaining on Aziraphale—Crowley could feel his presence nearby.

“There he is!” Unusas said.

Aziraphale had come into view. He held his bowl tightly against his chest, as if afraid someone might steal it from him. He glanced over at them, eyes widening. He clearly hadn’t expected that the three demons were so close.

“He’s—he’s unbound? He’s running away!” Unusas spun around to face Crowley, his eyebrows furrowing in a mix of confusion and anger. He clenched his fists.

“He must have escaped!” said Crowley, by way of explanation. He risked a look at Aziraphale—the angel had extended his wings. Aziraphale began to beat his wings and lifted off the ground. He turned back to Unusas with a sheepish grin. “I was never good at bloody restraints. Damn it.”

Both Unusas and Iamaun had unfurled their wings as well. Iamaun picked Crowley up and placed him around her shoulders. He let out a shocked, furious shriek.

“No time for you to change forms,” said Iamaun, almost kindly. “Unusas and I will take it from here.”

They leapt into the air. Crowley hadn’t flown in ages, and was beyond enraged that his first flight in so long had been stolen by these awful circumstances. But he tightened his hold on Iamaun instinctively, not wanting to fall now that she had brought him along.

Aziraphale wasn’t far above them. He glanced down and climbed the air, desperation plain on his face. Crowley thought that if the angel could give one more powerful beat of his wings, he would be able to escape.

Unusas lunged upwards, grabbing hold of the angel’s ankles. Aziraphale gasped and tried to kick him away, but Unusas would not let go so easily. Unusas tightened his hold around Aziraphale’s ankles and began trying to pull him down.

Crowley didn’t think. He tightened his coils around Iamaun’s neck. She let out a choked cry and her hands flew up to her neck. Her nails dug into his scales, but Crowley squeezed, undeterred.

“Come here, angel,” Unusas growled.

“Lord!” Aziraphale cried. The angel began to panic, twisting and thrashing. His wings beat faster and with more force, as though it would help him slip out of Unusas’s reach. “Please! Please!"

“He won’t help you! He won’t reach you here!” said Unusas. He was obviously infuriated now that the angel had invoked his Father, and yet his words left him with a sort of cruel glee.

Unusas was the present danger to Aziraphale, Crowley knew, but letting go of Iamaun to attack Unusas would possibly mean more trouble. He just had to hope that Aziraphale found enough strength in himself to wrench himself free.

Iamaun tried to speak. Her voice came out as a little yelp. Crowley constricted tighter, choking it off, closing her esophagus up bit by bit with every breath she struggled to take. She reached out and tugged on Unusas’s robe.

Unusas’s attention was briefly diverted from the angel. The demon glanced down and noticed Crowley’s tight coils around his companion’s neck. His eyes blazed, but he made no move to help her. The angel was the prize here. Unusas could lose it all if he took a single moment to come to Iamaun’s aid. He looked back up at Aziraphale, who tipped over his clay bowl, spilling water onto the three demons below.

Unusas yelled a split second before Crowley himself felt the burning, burning pain. He let go of Iamaun’s neck, thrashing to get away from the pain. Gravity pulled him down.

His scales were on fire. Crowley looked up and that Iamaun and Unusas had vanished.

 _Holy water_ , Crowley thought dazedly. The damned angel had used his bowl to collect the water from the underground river, and he had blessed it. Crowley hadn’t been drenched the way Iamaun and Unusas had. The small splash that had landed on him had been enough to sear his side.

Would that be enough to kill him, as well?

“Crow-Crowley?” he heard Aziraphale call out his name.

He didn’t respond. As Crowley fell for the second time in his life, he wondered if the holy water or his fall would kill him first.

Before Crowley hit the trees, the angel caught him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I just realized that Crowley says "I was never good at bloody restraints" and I swear it didn't connect in my head until just now that he's a literal serpent. He doesn't have the appendages to tie anyone up. Of course, Iamaun and Unusas just think he prefers to look that way, and shape-shifts when necessary, but I just was rereading the chapter to make last minute edits and started laughing.


	4. barely even friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, forcing Aziraphale to start falling in love: JUST DO IT!!! JUST!!!!! SPEED UP A LITTLE WE DON'T HAVE 6000 YEARS LIKE YOU DO IN CANON
> 
> This will be a Mood for the next several chapters, I think. 
> 
> Also I have one more chapter to post before we're caught up and updates will take longer. Much longer, probably. Sorry. :(

 

Aziraphale landed roughly, just outside the opening of the caverns. He stumbled a bit as he steadied himself. In his arms, he held the bunched body of the unconscious serpent. He peered down at Crowley’s eyes—they were open, as snakes did not have eyelids, but their golden color was dull. Crowley’s breaths were fast and shallow, and his side was burned nastily.

“Crowley?” asked Aziraphale, knowing he would not get a response.

He couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty. Crowley had been trying to help his escape, and Aziraphale had thanked him by dumping holy water over him. Not that he’d had much of a choice, really. Those other demons would have taken him for sure.

Which begged the question—why had Crowley been helping him _escape_?

“I’m not much for killing,” Crowley had said the day they had met, the day Aziraphale had been forced to live here in Limbo for the rest of eternity. Was Crowley so averse to killing and torture that he would aid his own prisoner’s escape? Why? He was a _demon_.

Even if he didn’t personally want to torture Aziraphale, why would it bother him that other demons wanted to? Why would he care? There was no reason for him to. He’d trapped Aziraphale down in Hell and then had the nerve to be sorry about it.

“I don’t understand you,” said Aziraphale now, crouching down and laying Crowley gently inside the cavern. The air was temperate down here—the days in Hell were boiling hot and the nights bitterly cold, but inside these caves the air brushed against his cheek tenderly.

He reached out and touched the burns on Crowley’s side. The serpent woke with a gasp and recoiled away from his fingertips.

“Sorry, sorry,” Aziraphale said, a lump beginning to form in his throat. “I don’t—I don’t know how to heal demons.”

Crowley took a few moments to steady his breathing. Then, as if he’d just realized that he had been asked a question, said hoarsely, “Hellfire.”

“Hellfire,” he echoed. Aziraphale had no idea where to find it. Not unless he went out into Hell proper in search for it, which would be a suicide mission. And Aziraphale could not find it in himself to die for a demon. Even a demon who had just helped him.

“You—you burned me with holy water,” said Crowley matter-of-factly. There was not a trace of outrage in his tone. “I’m still alive.”

“It appears so.”

Crowley turned his head to look at his burns. He gazed at it for a second, and then fell back with a sigh. “It doesn’t look pretty, does it?”

“No,” Aziraphale murmured.

“I’ll live,” Crowley said. “But Iamaun and Unusas—you really doused them, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t have any other choice,” Aziraphale said grouchily. He crossed his arms and sniffed. “They were going to drag me back down here—maybe someplace worse.”

“I don’t doubt that,” said Crowley levelly. “Good riddance to them.”

“You were helping me,” Aziraphale said. He licked his lips. “Don’t hide it. I know you were helping me escape. Why?”

Crowley shifted, leaning on the side that hadn’t been burned by the holy water. He let out a low of pain but didn’t reply.

“I don’t understand you,” Aziraphale continued. His chest was constricting with his confusion and frustration. “You take me prisoner, but you tell me jokes. You snap at me and make me go to my cave, but then you let me wander through the woods here. You don’t want me to leave, but you don’t do anything to force me to stay. In fact, you help me escape two other demons who want to hurt me. You strangled one of them. I poured holy water on you and you aren’t even angry. What do you want with me, Crowley?”

“Why did you stay?” Crowley asked in return.

Aziraphale blinked. He opened his mouth to argue, to demand an explanation. He didn’t appreciate the topic being turned to him. This was about Crowley. This was about how vexing it was that Crowley’s actions conflicted with each other, and with everything Aziraphale had been told about demons.

He wanted to hate Crowley. This demon that had kept him from going back to Earth. But he didn’t. He never really had. Even at his angriest, Aziraphale could not bring himself to hate Crowley.

Crowley had just been doing what any demon would do.

And then he hadn’t.

“You undoubtedly were planning your escape for at least a couple of days,” said Crowley. “You made your bowl of clay and you collected water from the river. You blessed it and created holy water. And this was before you could have known that there were other demons in the vicinity. That holy water was meant for me, in case I impeded your escape. Wasn’t it? Yet after you spilled the water over me and the other demons, you caught me. You rescued me from my fall and took me back to this cave. Even now, you want to know how you can heal my burns. You could have let me fall and die back there. You would have returned to Heaven and everything would have gone back to normal. But you didn’t. You _stayed_. Why?”

“I—you—” Aziraphale began miserably. He didn’t know why. He had just done it. “You helped me escape.”

“So you were repaying a debt?” Crowley asked.

Relief flooding through him, Aziraphale nodded. He had an out. And it wasn’t exactly a lie. Aziraphale did feel an obligation to heal Crowley because the serpent had tried to help him. But even that didn’t quite cover the reason. He couldn’t pin it down and it irritated him to no end.

Thankfully, Crowley relaxed, laying his head back down. “It isn’t serious enough for hellfire.”

Aziraphale reached out and stroked Crowley’s burnt scales reluctantly. Crowley tensed underneath his fingertips, but did not cry out. Encouraged by this, Aziraphale focused on pouring in some of his power into healing the burns.

“Is that all right?” he checked, still unsure if healing demons could be the same as healing angels or humans.

“Wonderful,” said Crowley with a relieved sigh. His breathing steadied, and Aziraphale could tell that he was falling asleep. “Just wonderful.”

Aziraphale hugged his knees to his chest, the same way he had on his first night in these caverns, and looked out into Hell’s starless sky. But he didn’t feel so alone this time. And if his confusion gave way to something akin to contentment, Aziraphale would never say.

.

Aziraphale knew just as well as Crowley did that angels nor demons needed sustenance. Nevertheless, he picked some fruit and tracked down his bowl before Crowley woke the next morning. It was shattered to pieces, having been abandoned by him in favor of rescuing Crowley. Aziraphale miracled it whole again.

Not feeling hunger or thirst didn’t mean that one couldn’t indulge, and Aziraphale was willing to bet that Crowley might appreciate something while he was recovering. He collected water from the river and didn’t bless it this time.

Leaving the water and fruit beside Crowley for when he woke up, Aziraphale went out to find a place to think.

He found a log and sat down on it. He licked his lips and leaned back.

So Crowley had saved him. And he had saved Crowley.

Where did that leave them? Was Aziraphale still Crowley’s prisoner? He didn’t know and he didn’t know if he had the courage to ask Crowley himself. Those little kindnesses that Crowley showed—Aziraphale didn’t know if he would be able to bear it if it was all for naught, if they were calculated to lull him into a false sense of security.

The problem was, Aziraphale was beginning to believe that this was not the case. And that possibly frightened him more.

The Fall had not been that long ago, considering. Yet the angels in Heaven spoke of their fallen siblings as though they were forever tainted and irredeemable. And why wouldn’t the angels think such a thing? Why wouldn’t Aziraphale think that? Demons had their strange names and strange forms; they were ruled, at least from what he had heard, by their bitterness toward their Father.

Aziraphale knew that he could not judge Crowley in this manner. For Heaven’s sake, Crowley hadn’t even gotten angry with him for spilling holy water on him. Aziraphale could have killed him. He had been _planning_ to. But Crowley took this in stride.

And this was where Aziraphale’s heart seized in his chest: if Crowley had done such good things, did that make Aziraphale capable of doing bad things?

Had Aziraphale _already_ done bad things?

“My apple blossoms!”

Aziraphale was startled out of his thoughts by Crowley’s troubled voice. The serpent slithered to him, his golden eyes as piercing and alert as ever. It might have been amusing to see a snake favor one of his sides the way an injured animal with legs would, but Crowley was distressed, and Aziraphale stood up, not knowing the cause.

“Did you touch them?” Crowley demanded, before sneaking a look inside of the hollow. He visibly relaxed. “No.”

“Apple blossoms?” Aziraphale asked, peering down. “You take care of them? I didn’t even notice they were here.”

“I don’t know if I take care of them exactly,” said Crowley, with a sniff. “Just watch over them. But I won’t let the likes of you ruin them.”

“Seems like they’ve lost quite a bit of petals already,” Aziraphale noticed. “Maybe you could try a sunnier area.”

“They’re protected this way,” Crowley said. “Cold won’t get to them. Heat won’t either.”

“If you say so,” said Aziraphale, who didn’t know anything about how to take proper care of plants. He had seen other fruit-bearing trees around, and they all had managed to survive Limbo’s unpredictable weather. But he wasn’t about to start an argument with Crowley about his apple blossoms, of all things.  “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Crowley replied. “Say, that wasn’t holy water you left there in the cave for me, was it?”

Affronted, Aziraphale opened his mouth to retort, but Crowley shook his head with a grin. Here he was, joking around with Aziraphale again.

“Thank you for leaving the fruit and water for me,” Crowley said, looking utterly sincere despite his mischievous smile.

“Just want to make sure you get better,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley’s grin widened. “So that you can truly repay your debt.”

“Right.”

“Well, I think that’s quite good of you,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale crossed his arms. “I _am_ an angel.”

“You can’t think that means much, can you?” Crowley asked.

Not wanting to have this conversation with Crowley when he had been thinking about it mere minutes ago, Aziraphale only shrugged in response. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to come up with a conclusion that satisfied himself, let alone Crowley.

Apparently sensing that he would not be able to coax any replies from Aziraphale on this topic, Crowley instead settled by him and was quiet for a moment.

“What do you like about Heaven?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale wondered if that was wistfulness he could detect, disguised underneath Crowley’s casual tone.

“It’s—it’s very nice,” said Aziraphale, not knowing where Crowley was going with this.

Crowley nodded along. “Sure, sure. But isn’t it boring?”

“Boring?” Aziraphale echoed. “It’s Heaven!”

Crowley’s intelligent gaze rested on him steadily. Aziraphale shifted, as though to get out from under it. When Crowley continued to fix him with his stare, Aziraphale let out a little frustrated sound from the back of his throat. “Heaven is nice. I like it. But Earth is certainly more exciting.”

Crowley threw his head up to laugh. “Now that, I can agree with.”

“You’ve been up to Earth?” Aziraphale asked, surprised.

“Not for very long,” Crowley said, “but yes, I have been.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Was it you, then?”

Crowley frowned. “I can’t read minds, angel. What do you mean?”

He opened his mouth and found himself unable to ask. Had Crowley been the demon Jophiel sent away? Or had he steered clear of Eden altogether? How had Adam and Eve left Eden?

Adam had said that they hadn’t eaten from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Aziraphale believed him, but had never gotten a chance to ask what they had been doing outside of Eden—all the way in Limbo.

Aziraphale was suddenly struck with the frightening thought that they had been tempted to come out. Perhaps he’d been wrong about Crowley after all. His stomach clenched.

“Never mind,” he said. “I never thanked you, did I? For helping me?”

Crowley flicked his tongue out and was silent for a moment. “I thought your healing me was to repay me for it.”

“But that isn’t a proper thank you. Not at all,” said Aziraphale with a shake of his head. Hesitantly, he reached out and stroked Crowley’s scales. The serpent tensed momentarily, and Aziraphale took his hand away. He swallowed. “Thank you. Those other demons—they really might’ve killed me.”

“Or worse,” Crowley put in. “They wanted to torture you. They might have taken me too.”

Aziraphale frowned. That didn’t make sense to him. “You too?”

“Once they found out I wasn’t harming you,” said Crowley. His voice was deceptively cheerful.  “They would have wanted to take me down in to Hell proper. Given me a taste of what I wasn’t giving you.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale let this information sink in. This did seem like something demons would do. And Crowley helping Aziraphale escape to save his own skin—he understood that, too. If Aziraphale were a demon, if Aziraphale were ever in Crowley’s place, he might have done the same thing.

He wondered. He wanted to _know_ , desperately, if this meant that nothing had changed after all. But Aziraphale’s throat had closed up. He didn’t want to be wrong.

He just wasn’t sure what he thought anymore.

 


	5. something there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uh, I guess we're already in spotty update territory. I did mean to have this one up earlier! But then I got too busy to edit. Ah, well.

Something had changed.

Aziraphale claimed that he was only healing Crowley to return the favor. Crowley had tried to help him escape, and so Aziraphale would help to heal Crowley’s wounds. For the next couple of days after Crowley had first woken to find water and fruit beside him in the cavern, Aziraphale stayed.

Crowley’s burns faded. Although they still stung at times, Crowley was finding it much easier now to glide his way through the forest floor. Even the bark when he climbed trees didn’t bother him so much. Aziraphale watched his recovery and was there to brush healing fingertips against his scales as needed. As the days passed, Crowley relied on Aziraphale less.

Jophiel had only cursed him to remain in his serpent form; nothing about the spell suppressed his powers. He still had his powers, and could relieve his own pain.

Aziraphale was staying to repay a debt.

This did not explain why he stuck around after Crowley’s burns had healed completely.

Aziraphale didn’t talk much, but Crowley felt it was a different sort of silence than he’d been subjected to when Aziraphale had first arrived. _That_ silence had been bitter and angry, a punishment. Aziraphale didn’t seem mad, just puzzled and wistful. When he did speak, he was often distracted. His voice would at times take an anxious quality. In turn, this made Crowley anxious.

Crowley wished he knew what Aziraphale was thinking.

Their last true conversation had been the day Crowley had caught Aziraphale by his apple blossoms, and he wondered if that had caused Aziraphale’s silence now.

Crowley hadn’t been lying that day. Unusas and Iamaun would undoubtedly have dragged Crowley down into the deepest circles of Hell alongside Aziraphale, had they found the angel unharmed that day.

That hadn’t been the reason he had tried to help Aziraphale, though.

It wouldn’t have worked, for one thing. There, at the end, Iamaun had gotten Unusas’s attention away from Aziraphale. He had known that Crowley was strangling her, aiding Aziraphale’s escape. Had Aziraphale not dumped his holy water on them, Crowley could only imagine what Unusas might have done to him.

But Crowley also didn’t want the angel to be harmed. Knowing he would have caused Aziraphale’s torture—his stomach turned over.

Did Aziraphale realize this?

Was this the reason for the angel’s pensiveness? Crowley often found himself under Aziraphale’s gaze. He had the distinct feeling that he was being studied. But for what, Crowley didn’t know. He decided to pretend to ignore it. It didn’t work too well.

“What about the Earth did you say you liked, again?” Crowley asked one afternoon. Aziraphale sat in the shade of a pine tree, drawing in the dirt. Crowley was settled above him on a branch, taking in the sun.

Aziraphale looked up. He took a moment to think, and Crowley briefly worried that the blasted unease would creep back into his voice. But thankfully, Aziraphale seemed almost cheerful to talk about the Earth this time. “Well—it’s like you said. More fun than Heaven. And I like the humans.”

“What about them do you like?” Crowley asked, because he hadn’t known Eve and Adam for very long. They were a lot different than angels or demons. They had no powers, for one thing. No true form; what you saw was what you got.

“Their kindness. Their curiosity and cleverness.” Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled—actually sparkled now. “Their love.”

“Angels love,” Crowley said. He shook his head in lieu of rolling his eyes. He missed being able to do that. “What makes humans’ love so different?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can explain it,” said Aziraphale, going back to scribbling in the dust. “Especially not to you.”

If Crowley hadn’t already been cold-blooded, his blood would have chilled. He sucked in a breath. His throat felt tight. “Right. Because—because—”

Aziraphale glanced up at him with a slight frown. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “I just remembered. I need to check on my flowers.”

Aziraphale blinked with surprise—or maybe it was confusion—and Crowley shot him a forced grin before climbing down the tree. He needed to get away for a moment. He could feel the angel’s gaze following him as he left. Luckily, though, Aziraphale didn’t stand to follow him.

Three more petals had fallen since the night that those demons had found Crowley. He curled around his blossoms and swallowed thickly.

He was going to be stuck like this. Crowley still hadn’t totally accepted it. Aziraphale’s gentle reminder that demons couldn’t love struck him like a blow. Would he ever truly stop hoping? Part of him wished for it. Then he wouldn’t have to worry or panic. When the last petal fell, he would feel nothing.

But he wanted to be Crowley, the Crowley that he thought he might have gotten a chance to be on Earth. He wanted to walk on two legs like a human did, or use his wings to fly. He wanted to go to Earth again, and find things he liked about it, and see the things Aziraphale liked.

Maybe the angel would even show him around. After all, Aziraphale didn’t seem to harbor any ill will towards him anymore. They could even be friends.

He wanted it so much he felt dizzy with it.

He could imagine it; using his hands to tear out the lush grass from the ground, kicking rocks with his feet, the wind brushing against his feathers. And Aziraphale by his side, sniping at him or talking about the humans.

Crowley nuzzled his flowers and let out a sigh.

“Crowley?”

He jolted awake. It took him a moment to remember where he was. He must have fallen asleep coiled around his blossoms. The frost of Limbo’s bitter nights still had not melted. He looked up the little gap in the wood to see Aziraphale standing above him, half-hidden in shadow. Crowley, feeling terribly cold, slithered out.

“Sssorry,” Crowley said, forgetting himself for a moment.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” asked Aziraphale.

Crowley nodded.

“You left rather abruptly,” Aziraphale said with a frown. He lowered himself onto the forest floor, where he sat, crossing his legs.  

Crowley could feel the angel’s warmth from where he was, and his mouth almost watered. He didn’t know how to ask if he could climb into his lap, or wind himself around Aziraphale’s neck. This was miles away from asking him to heal his burnt scales.

“I…” Crowley began, unsure of what he wanted to say. “I suppose I thought that the conversation was over.”

Guilt crossed over Aziraphale’s face. “I shouldn’t have spoken like that. My apologies. I could try to explain love to you, if you wanted. Do you remember what it was like, as an angel? To love?”

Crowley hummed in response. It had felt so long ago, the time before the Fall. It also seemed like it had happened only yesterday. He tried to remember, for Aziraphale’s sake, what love felt like. The faintest impressions of… some sort of enveloping feeling came to him. It had a certain quality that Crowley couldn’t describe or even grasp at. Before he could explore it further, it faded.

He didn’t know. He really didn’t know what love felt like at all.

He cringed. Had Crowley really hoped, ever, even for a moment, that he could fall in love? He was a demon. And he had no idea what love even felt like.

“Love,” Aziraphale pondered, rightfully taking Crowley’s silence as denial. “It’s… warm. It makes you feel safe.”

“The humans made you feel safe?” Crowley asked, doubtful. Hadn’t it been Aziraphale’s duty to protect Adam and Eve? What could Aziraphale possibly have to gain from that? He could believe that Adam and Eve had felt safe with Aziraphale—he’d had that flaming sword and he was an angel, strong and capable of things humans probably could only dream of.

“Trust,” Aziraphale tried again. He bit his lip. “I trusted them.”

“You gave Eve your sword,” Crowley remembered. He frowned. “But trust isn’t love.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Aziraphale said in agreement. “It’s a rather large part of it, though. Love with the humans—it was a different kind of safety, I felt. I know them, and they know me, and we stick by each other.”

Crowley was feeling a bit frustrated about this. Aziraphale made love seem all too common and terribly rare at the same time.

And he was still so cold.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at this,” said Aziraphale with an embarrassed grin. “I really did want to help you understand.”

Crowley sighed tiredly. He huddled himself and concentrated on miracling himself warm. “It’s fine, Aziraphale.” He paused. “Love…” He broke himself off and shook his head, irritated with himself. “I can understand why you enjoy the humans, I think.”

 Aziraphale’s shoulders relaxed. He nodded, his mouth curling into a pleased smile. They sat side-by-side until the glaring sun burnt away any last remnants of last night’s cold, and Crowley had to miracle himself cool instead.

.

Aziraphale’s pensiveness had not evaporated after the two of them returned to their cave. But he was much more willing to talk. When he and Crowley did slip back into quiet, their silences felt more companionable than anything else, for which he was grateful.

Back inside the cavern, Aziraphale manifested two bowls identical to the one he had made of clay so many days ago. He dumped the first bowl, which had still been filled with water. With a final shake, it was as dry as the other two. The angel smiled. “Do you want to play a game Adam and Eve taught me?”

Crowley figured that neither of them had anything better to do, so he agreed.

Aziraphale turned all three of the bowls upside down. Then he took a rock and placed it underneath the middle bowl.

“You have to tell me where the rock is,” said Aziraphale.

“Under the middle one,” Crowley said, thinking it rather obvious. He didn’t understand the point of the game. He was fairly sure that God had created humans with object permanence.

Aziraphale laughed. Actually, properly _laughed._ Crowley hadn’t heard an angel laugh since Jophiel’s harsh chuckle after he had cursed him. But this was different; high and musical. Aziraphale’s entire face had lit up in absolute delight. He covered his mouth with his hand and shook his head.

“Not yet,” Aziraphale said. He began to switch the bowls around, scrambling them. Crowley hadn’t been paying attention, so when Aziraphale sat back and asked him which bowl had the rock underneath, he had to guess.

“The one on the right,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale turned the bowl over.

An empty space left by the bowl greeted him.

“One more guess,” said Aziraphale generously.

Crowley stared at the two bowls.  He picked the middle one. That one was empty, too. Crowley huffed. “Well, that’s just unfair. I wasn’t paying attention when you switched them around.”

“Do you want to try again?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded. He didn’t take his eyes off of the bowls this time, making sure he paid close attention to them.

He lost that game too, though.

“How?” Crowley frowned, suddenly feeling a bit suspicious. “You aren’t miracling the rock into the bowls I didn’t pick, are you?”

“Me? Of course not. That’s _cheating_ ,” said Aziraphale, crossing his arms. “It’s simply a matter of misdirection.”

“Never mind that,” said Crowley. “I want to try.”

Aziraphale looked like he was attempting to suppress a smile. “Crowley, you don’t have any arms.”

“That hasn’t stopped me before,” Crowley said, turning the bowls back upside down with some difficulty. He slowly and painstakingly started to switch the bowls as Aziraphale watched, unable to decide between feeling amused or concerned.

“Why don’t you just change back?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley glanced up. “I’m sorry?”

“You can change forms to appear more human, can’t you? I liked changing into an owl sometimes. Or a lion. I don’t understand why you spend all your time as a serpent, though.”

As though to prove his point, Aziraphale shifted his form into the shape of the predatory bird. Crowley, by some instinct not entirely his own, flinched back. Aziraphale’s feathers were quite messy, and the angel began to pick at those on his stomach with his beak.

“I-I don’t…” Crowley tried, finding himself without any explanations. Somehow, he had never imagined that this conversation would ever come up. He had stupidly assumed that Aziraphale accepted that he took his form in the shape of a serpent, no questions asked. “I can’t.”

“Can’t?” Aziraphale asked, lifting his head up. A couple of downy feathers were stuck on his beak. In other circumstances, Crowley would have found the sight rather humorous. The angel blinked at him with his large, glowing eyes. He changed back into his preferred form. The feathers remained stuck to his mouth, and Aziraphale spat and wiped them away with the back of his hand. He gave an embarrassed grin. “It’s easy! Those other demons looked human enough. I could try to help.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said harshly, “I _can’t_ change. I won’t be able to, ever.”

“What do you mean?” the angel asked, his smile evaporating as his brows furrowed.

Aziraphale had been just been offering his assistance, Crowley knew. There had been no reason for an outburst like that, but they had touched on a subject Crowley never wanted to speak about. It was too late to hide his anguish, though. As an angel, Aziraphale was attuned to emotions. Not only that, but he actually looked like he _cared_.

“I am cursssed,” Crowley hissed, feeling the pain wash over him again, “cursed to remain in this form for all time. I cannot change. I will never look human—or like a lion, or anything else. I’m a snake, angel, cursed to remind everyone of the true nature of demons.”

Aziraphale swallowed. His breathing was heavy. Crowley glanced up at him to see that his face had turned pale. “And… and so there is no way to break your curse?”

Crowley turned away, curling himself into tight coils. He thought of the fallen petals; of Jophiel’s mean laughter; of Aziraphale’s open, honest face when he offered to explain love to him. He did not meet the angel’s gaze.

“Nothing possible.”


	6. then somebody bends, unexpectedly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're in spotty update territory," I say, updating little over a week later. 
> 
> Listen, I was on spring break. Count yourselves lucky.

Aziraphale didn’t sleep anymore. Not since the day he had left Eden—had left _Earth_. He didn’t want to be taken by surprise by anything. The last time he’d fallen asleep, Adam and Eve had ventured outside of Eden. He’d had to give up his life guarding the Eastern Gate. So he stayed awake as the sky darkened. 

This gave him more time to think.

There were still no stars in Hell, but this didn’t bother Aziraphale as much anymore. Crowley was tightly coiled into a ball, sleeping soundly.

Without thinking, Aziraphale reached out and stroked Crowley’s head.

Demons had all been angels, once. They Fell from grace; were cast out from Heaven. But Crowley—not only had he Fallen, but he had also been cursed to spend all of his days in the shape of a serpent.

Aziraphale remembered how Crowley had mentioned going up to Earth. Jophiel had boasted about chasing off a demon for days.

“He won’t be back anytime soon,” Jophiel had said, leaning on his sword. “Mankind is safe.”

Had it been Crowley? Had Jophiel been the one to curse him?

Perhaps, if Aziraphale left—and he _could_ leave, he was sure of it now; Crowley had never seemed inclined to keep him here by force—if he left, he could be able to convince Jophiel to take the curse away from Crowley. But he was really just assuming. Aziraphale didn’t know for certain that Jophiel had cursed him. Confronting the archangel about it undoubtedly would be a bad move.

Or maybe Crowley had been cursed like this by God Himself. Lucifer might have been the leader of the fallen angels, but what if Crowley had done something individually despicable? Something that needed a punishment far more personal?

After all, he was capable of bad; he was a demon. He had taken Aziraphale prisoner, although Aziraphale’s current position as such had been somewhat eliminated. Crowley might have even been the one to draw out Adam and Eve from the Garden. But that too was uncertain. It was something Aziraphale suspected but had no way of knowing was true.

What could Crowley have done to deserve such a punishment? Surely it had to have been something so much worse.

Aziraphale tried to reconcile this thought with the sleeping Crowley beside him. The Crowley who had refused to torture and kill him; the Crowley who had strangled another demon so that Aziraphale could fly away; the Crowley who had asked him about Heaven and Earth and of Adam and Eve.

But he couldn’t. There was something utterly genuine about Crowley. Although embarrassed about these kindnesses, Crowley had never been hesitant to show them. He acted without thinking, and only after did he seem unsure.

Aziraphale sighed. He stroked Crowley’s scales again. Not waking, Crowley pushed his head into the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale blinked. He must be cold, Aziraphale realized.

He began to bundle Crowley into his arms. The serpent jerked awake with a startled hiss, and Aziraphale almost dropped him.

“What—what are you doing?” Crowley managed. He shook his head as if to clear it.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said, letting him down gently on the ground again. “You seemed cold.”

“Cold,” Crowley said. His forked tongue flicked out, and he looked around for a moment before his gaze landed on Aziraphale again. “Yes.”

“Do you want to, er—” Aziraphale began, feeling the question die halfway out of his mouth. He picked it up again. “Do you _want_ to come up?”

Crowley looked up at him strangely. “You—you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” said Aziraphale, extending his arm.

Crowley leaned away for a moment, staring at his hand and then up at Aziraphale’s face, and back again. He seemed to make up his mind and climbed up Aziraphale’s arm. When he reached Aziraphale’s neck, he looped himself around loosely.

Too late, Aziraphale remembered the way Crowley had strangled that demon all those days ago. He swallowed and forced himself to remain relaxed. He trusted— _knew_ —that Crowley would never do such a thing to him. Crowley had done that _for_ him. Even if Aziraphale was unsure of his motivations, he was positive on this one thing. Crowley wouldn’t hurt him. He’d had every chance to and had taken none of them.

“Is that okay?” Crowley asked. Perhaps he had sensed Aziraphale’s sudden hesitance.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale truthfully. “That’s perfectly all right. Is that better for you?”

“Much,” Crowley said. He tensed around him for a moment so brief Aziraphale was sure he’d only imagined it. “Thank you.”

“Are your burns still stinging?” Aziraphale asked.

“They’re gone,” said Crowley with a sigh. “Haven’t stung in days.”

They were quiet for a moment. Aziraphale could feel the pounding of Crowley’s heart against his shoulder and could not stop himself from speaking up.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about your curse,” Aziraphale confessed. He felt Crowley’s muscles tighten around him again. He grimaced. “I’m sorry. But… there must be some way—"

“No, it’s—it’s just… I already told you,” said Crowley, his voice growing harsher with every word, “if you want to help me, then just forget it. My curssse does not have any sort of loophole around it that you can expossse. It isn’t going to break. And…” Here Crowley forced a lightness into his tone: “It isn’t so bad, really. I still have my demonic powers.”

“But _why_ were you cursed? If we know why, maybe we can find some way to reverse it,” Aziraphale said. “Was it—was it the same reason you Fell…?”

“You—” Crowley said. Aziraphale could feel him tightening around his neck even further. The pressure was uncomfortable, but not painful. Aziraphale could still breathe easily. “You don’t just ask a demon why they Fell, angel.”

The word _angel_ fell from his mouth like it had been thrown out of Heaven. Aziraphale flinched.

“I-I didn’t know,” said Aziraphale apologetically. He wanted to reach up and stroke Crowley’s scales to calm him down, but didn’t know how that gesture would be received. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that demons could feel such pain. Only bitterness.”

“And where do you think that bitterness comes from?” Crowley took a sharp breath. The coils around Aziraphale’s neck loosened considerably. “Sometimes, I think pain is all demons _can_ feel.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said again. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to help.”

“I know you did, Aziraphale.” Crowley sounded more than a little tired. He began to unwind himself slowly, drifting down Aziraphale’s arm the same way he came up.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to tell Crowley that he didn’t have to get down. Then he realized that Crowley was getting off of him because _he_ was uncomfortable—or angry or upset. Aziraphale should let Crowley have his space. His ears started to burn. “I should have known the question was rude. I apologize.”

Crowley paused. He faced Aziraphale and seemed to soften a bit. “I accept your apology. I’m sorry, too.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Whatever for?”

“Your neck—I hurt you, didn’t I?” Crowley asked. “When I… I was choking you—”

He cut Crowley off with a shake of his head. “You’ve never harmed me.”

“Oh.”

“Are we all right, then?” Aziraphale asked.

Tightening his grip on Aziraphale’s arm for balance, Crowley tilted his head. “I think so.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything in return, waiting for Crowley’s next move. The serpent hesitated for another moment before he crossed Aziraphale’s lap and ducked under his other arm, finding his way onto the angel’s shoulder again. Aziraphale almost sagged with relief. He caught himself and cleared his throat. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s smile against as he settled around his neck once again, letting Aziraphale know that it had not gone unnoticed.

“Goodnight,” said Crowley softly.

“Sleep well,” Aziraphale said.

There were so many more things he wanted to say, so many more things he wanted to ask. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know how.

Aziraphale stared down at the river until he felt Crowley’s breaths become slow and heavy.  

.

Crowley started awake that morning, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. He’d left the cavern and had been taking a leisurely stroll for a few minutes. He didn’t think Crowley had felt a thing.

It was a warm morning, promising to be just as blistering hot out as it had been every day since Aziraphale had first found himself here. At least today there was a pleasant little breeze. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that he was back on Earth.

Around his neck, Crowley looked this way and that, as though confused.

“I’m… around your neck?” Crowley wondered.

“You were cold last night,” said Aziraphale, hoping that Crowley wouldn’t bring up the argument that they’d also had.

Crowley’s scales brushed against his neck as he shifted away slightly. “Well I… yes, I remember but… you didn’t wake me this morning? I thought you’d want me to get off eventually.”

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale replied. “And I didn’t want to wake you. I thought you’d like to rest a bit more.”

“I always would like to rest a bit more,” Crowley agreed. He went limp against Aziraphale and feigned snoring.

Aziraphale found himself wondering if snakes could realistically snore, but then decided that was a topic of conversation for another day. He laughed as Crowley continued. “Say, why do you like to sleep so much?”

“Ah,” said Crowley, straightening up, “I enjoy sleeping. Sloth is a sin, you know. A lovely, decadent, luxurious sin.”

“I was vaguely aware of that,” Aziraphale said. He remembered the Eastern Gate, left open by Adam and Eve. His mirth began to evaporate. He wondered what had become of his human friends. Had they been able to get back to Eden safely?

“The question is,” Crowley said, “why you don’t sleep so much. I don’t think I’ve seen you sleep… ever. You eat. I didn’t think angels would eat, but you eat. Why don’t you sleep as well?”

“I guarded the Eastern Gate,” Aziraphale said, feeling a twinge of guilt. Even if he did ever return to Heaven, he knew that he would be punished severely for his mistake. Perhaps this time they would decide that it would be better if he wasn’t allowed on Earth at all.

He felt suffocated, and it had nothing to do with the serpent coiled around his neck.  

Aziraphale couldn’t possibly stay here in Hell. He didn’t _want_ to. He desperately missed the Earth.

But how could he return now? He could not just go back to Heaven and point his finger at Crowley and place all the blame there. Not only was that dishonest, it was cowardly. The serpent was sure to be killed on the spot, and Aziraphale didn’t want such a thing for him. He was growing fond of Crowley’s company. And he certainly didn’t want Crowley to die after all of his efforts to heal him.

Neither did Aziraphale want to be punished by not being allowed back on Earth. He would never see Crowley again, or even Adam and Eve.

“Have you ever slept?” Crowley asked. “Just to try it?”

“I used to.”

“And whatever happened to get you to stop?”

“You,” said Aziraphale, and then flinched. He hadn’t meant for it to come out so harshly. “That is, er—Adam and Eve—when they left the Garden—I was asleep, I didn’t get to them in time—"

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, sounding strained. “Aziraphale, you know…”

“I understand,” said Aziraphale. “I just don’t want to be surprised like that again.”

“That’s not it,” said Crowley. “That’s not it at all. Lisssten, Aziraphale, you know… you can—I’m not…”

Aziraphale blinked. He glanced to the side and frowned. “Are you trying to apologize? Crowley, I forgive you.”

Crowley let out a deep breath. Aziraphale felt the coils around his neck slacken even more. “I didn’t tempt them to leave Eden, you know. They left on their own.”

He blinked—as easily as breathing, Crowley had unknowingly answered the question Aziraphale had been struggling with for the past several days. Yet he felt no relief at the knowledge. He supposed it didn’t matter who had done the tempting. The result had been the same. And none of it would have happened if only Aziraphale had been doing his job.

 “I just wish I hadn’t gone to sleep that day,” said Aziraphale. “I ruined it all. I could have stopped them.”

Crowley’s tongue flicked out. “There isn’t any use in worrying about it, if you ask me.”

“It’s easy enough for you to say that,” Aziraphale sighed. He sat down on a rock. “You had nothing to do with it. I was there.”

“What makes you think Adam and Eve would have listened to you?” asked Crowley.

Aziraphale scrunched up his brows. “They’ve always done it before.”

He could feel Crowley shake his head, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he began to making his way back down onto the ground. He butted his head against Aziraphale’s knee, and he looked down at Crowley, who was settling down comfortably in a sunlit spot in the grass.

“Come on, now,” Crowley said. “You fixed your mistake, didn’t you?”

“I did do all I could,” Aziraphale reluctantly conceded.

“See!” said Crowley. “So, how about you try sleeping again tonight? I could even stay awake while you sleep. No surprises this time!”

Aziraphale grimaced. He shook his head.

Crowley let out a sigh and looked away. Clearly, he was disappointed at Aziraphale’s decision, but he didn’t press him. Aziraphale felt grateful that Crowley seemed to understand, and he reached down to stroke Crowley’s forehead.

Crowley tensed for a moment. Aziraphale was about to take his hand away, an apology halfway up his throat, but Crowley shook his head.

“You can—” Crowley cut himself off and reworded: “I don’t mind.”

Aziraphale managed to smile, but withdrew his hand anyway. He rested both of his hands on his lap and twiddled his thumbs. “You know, when we first met, I didn’t think we’d be friends.”

“Friends?” Crowley echoed, as if he was tasting the word.

“Well, I think of you as my friend,” said Aziraphale, who was half-surprised at himself as well. A demon. His friend. But here with Crowley, it didn’t seem ridiculous at all. Perhaps they’d started off on the wrong foot, but they had kept walking. Now it felt as though they’d finally found their stride.

 “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend before.” Crowley was quiet for a moment. He looked up at Aziraphale and returned his smile. “I suppose that makes you my first.”


	7. ever as before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's been a while! Apologies for the extremely late update, ha! 
> 
> I had the rest of the semester and then Writer's Block was a bitch. This chapter was just painful to write. It's the chapter before all the stuff I actually want to get to, but before I write _that_ I have to get this part finished. So. It's one of _those_ chapters. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy anyway!

Crowley could not remember the last time he had felt this content. He even dared to think of himself as being _happy_. He smiled to himself, feeling the warmth of Aziraphale’s skin seep into his cool scales. Crowley had found himself spending more and more time wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulders. He’d been spending more and more time around Aziraphale in general. The angel didn’t seem to mind.

Aziraphale was his friend. His first true _friend_.

Crowley had wanted it. He just hadn’t thought that it had been quite in his reach. He and Aziraphale had spent so much time bickering and carefully avoiding each other that friendship had never been something that Crowley had imagined would come of this arrangement.

Neither of them seemed to know how to navigate their friendship. This was strange. Something that should never have existed between an angel and a demon—between _them_.

They were perhaps the unlikeliest of pairs. Neither of them minded. If anything, Crowley was terrified of ruining it. But they’d gotten past most of their differences already. At least, enough of them to have lifted most of the burdens surrounding them.

Without much else to do, Aziraphale had picked up pottery-making once again. He was experimenting with making different things, having gotten tired of making the same old bowls over and over.

“I’m thinking,” said Aziraphale now, miracling clay in front of him, “of making a tiny little vase for those apple blossoms you’re so fond of.”

“A vase?” Crowley asked. “Oh, you needn’t worry about them—”

“But you do,” Aziraphale said with a wave of his hand. “I should care about them, too. A vase would be perfect for them. It’s decorative! We can put some water in there for the blossoms. That way they won’t wilt as quickly. I know you say you’re keeping them in the right temperature, but they do still need water. The poor things look like they’re all going to fall apart any day now. What do you think?”

“Er,” said Crowley, privately thinking that no amount of water would save his blossoms. He hadn’t been checking on them much lately, but this conversation was only reminding him that at any moment, his time would be up. Aziraphale didn’t know any of this, though. He just wanted to do something nice for Crowley; something that would celebrate their friendship. “I suppose.”

Aziraphale seemed pleased. Crowley’s presence on his shoulders did limit his movement a bit, though, so after struggling for a few minutes, Crowley slowly made his way down Aziraphale’s arm and back onto the ground.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, not looking up from his work. His hands were covered with clay. The vase looked half-formed so far, lumpy and not much taller than a normal bowl. But Aziraphale looked happy enough with its progress, humming with satisfaction or letting out frustrated little growls when he couldn’t get the bottom to balance on the flattened ground.

Crowley said nothing as he watched, settling himself down on a pool of sunlight. Aziraphale finally got it to balance and he grinned, meeting Crowley’s gaze.

“ _Whoo_ ,” said Crowley, “I got tired just watching you struggle with it.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Wait, wait. I have an idea.”

Crowley wondered if he’d figured that using a miracle to finish up would save time. Part of Crowley didn’t really want him to. He liked sitting here quietly, watching Aziraphale work. Pottery-making gave them both something to do when they weren’t talking. And it was calming.

Besides, it didn’t seem like it was something Aziraphale would do. He would want to put effort into a gift like this.

Adam and Eve had really ruined the angel, Crowley thought almost fondly. Angels didn’t give each other gifts. They had no need for them. Demons did give other demons gifts, but there was always an ulterior motive attached. It was a trick, or a bargaining tool. A way to get ahead, a way to bring the downfall of the other. It was never just exactly what it said on the tin.

Crowley had to assume that _this_ —this simple act of presenting a friend with a gift—was human to the core.

Maybe, even if he couldn’t necessarily _feel_ it, Crowley could understand love after all.

Aziraphale drew a squiggly line around the clay vase and pointed to it. “That’s you.”

“Beautiful! A perfect likeness,” said Crowley with a grin. He raised his head, striking a pose.

Aziraphale let out a light laugh. He didn’t erase the squiggly line, so Crowley assumed that it had been for decoration.

“I think my flowers will like this vase very much,” Crowley said.

“I’m glad,” said Aziraphale, examining it closely for any imperfections before he dried the clay with a miracle. He stood up. “Why don’t we put some water in here?”

Crowley followed him back to the cave, where Aziraphale dipped the vase into the stream. Once the vase had been filled with water, Aziraphale lifted out of the dark river. Crowley continued to stare down into its depths. He could see nothing. But Crowley wasn’t so much looking as remembering the way the holy water had scalded him, the way Iamaun and Unusas had melted into the air.

They had almost gotten Crowley and Aziraphale. The angel’s resourcefulness had saved them both, albeit with injury. He’d saved them both with this water. Crowley took a drink, half-expecting the cool water to burn him on its way down.

It didn’t.

“Are you all right, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley turned towards the sound and grunted an affirmation. He followed Aziraphale out of the cave. The sound of streaming water faded behind him. “Just wanted a drink.”

“Yes, I suppose I should have had one, too,” said Aziraphale. “But I daresay your flowers will need the water more than I do.”

They arrived. Crowley pulled out the blossoms carefully and was dismayed at the sight of them. _Blossom_ was more appropriate. Only one flower with five brave pink petals remained now. Crowley ignored the tightening feeling in his chest and presented the twig to the angel. Aziraphale took it gently in his hands and placed it into the vase.

Crowley didn’t know if he was imagining things, but the blossom’s color seemed to deepen slightly. It was making a determined effort to keep blooming. He might have been touched.

“Would you look at that, it does like it,” said Aziraphale with a satisfied grin. He was admiring not the vase but the flower, which seemed to sigh with gratitude.

“It’s a lovely vase,” Crowley said. The blossom looked a little lonely in the vase, but he hoped that it would flourish for a while yet. “Thank you.”

“I enjoyed making it for you,” Aziraphale said. He looked back at Crowley. His grin had softened into a gentle smile, and something tugged at Crowley’s stomach.

He was struck with the thought that he should give the angel a gift, too. He just wasn’t sure what. Aziraphale could conjure up however much clay for pottery that he liked, and anything else that Crowley could think of was impossible.

Aziraphale delicately stroked the edge of one of the blossom’s petals and looked up. Crowley followed his gaze. It was the same Hellish sky as always. Crowley couldn’t see the source of light, but the sky was bright. 

“On Earth,” Aziraphale began, “the sky isn’t always this clear. There are clouds—sometimes I would fly up and touch them.”

“What did they feel like?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale scrunched his nose. “Not as fluffy as they look. Just cold and wet. I think they’re made of water.”

“You miss it?” Crowley prompted. “Touching the clouds?”

 “I suppose I do,” Aziraphale said.

“I miss flying,” Crowley confessed. “I can’t—well, my form being as it is… I can’t bring out my wings.”

“Oh, Crowley.”

Crowley shifted his gaze from the sky to Aziraphale. The angel’s face had twisted with compassion. He opened his mouth to tell Aziraphale not to worry about it. Flying was one thing that he couldn’t do anymore, out of all the demonic powers he’d kept. But for once, the empty reassurances didn’t leave him.

He _missed_ flying, damn it. Why couldn’t he just be honest about it? No defenses in the way.

Aziraphale reached out. It had become habit, now—an invitation for Crowley to climb up. “I can take you flying, if you want.”

For a second, Crowley only stared at the hand offered to him. He turned back to Aziraphale’s face and let himself smile. “I’d like that very much.”

Aziraphale brightened and wiggled his fingers as though to urge Crowley to hurry up. He made his way up Aziraphale’s arm and loosely wrapped himself around the angel’s neck. Aziraphale stood up, and Crowley tensed, feeling a bit unbalanced.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale muttered, brushing off dirt from his robe. He pulled out his wings and Crowley felt a little thrill. He began to beat his wings, preparing to break with gravity. He lifted off.

Crowley was momentarily dizzy with the weightlessness of flight. It was no longer a feeling he was familiar with, and it took him a moment to get used to it.

As Aziraphale climbed higher into the sky, Crowley felt free for the first time in a long while. He hung off of Aziraphale’s neck like a pendant, looking at the ground below and back up at Aziraphale’s small smile. Crowley suggested tricks.

“Barrel roll!” Crowley said, and Aziraphale spun in the air so fast that Crowley had trouble orienting himself. Aziraphale pulled up and Crowley took in a deep breath, amazed at how expansive the sky was.

They did this for a while; Crowley yelling out a trick and Aziraphale complying, but they had to stop too soon for Crowley’s taste.

“I don’t practice my agility in flight very much,” Aziraphale admitted. He sounded a little out of breath.

“Are you kidding me?” Crowley asked. “This is all I ever used to do!”

“It is fun,” Aziraphale said, looping back up from a drop. “But I’m getting a bit dizzy now. I want to coast for a bit.”

Crowley was perfectly content with that. As they sailed across the sky, Aziraphale fell quiet. He turned closer to that hazy place the horizon—where Earth met Limbo, and stayed there, just grazing the edge of the border. Crowley stared at it and marveled at how even the vegetation had different shades of green on either side, and the sky was a different blue.

“I’m sorry Limbo doesn’t have clouds for you to touch,” Crowley said. “I’d have liked to try to touch them, too.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I used to get in trouble for it. I was always running off before the War in Heaven, never wanted to do the jobs assigned to me.”

Crowley imagined Aziraphale’s superiors constantly telling him off and found himself grinning. “So even before the War, you liked Earth?”

“Always,” he replied. There was something wistful about the angel’s smile. It was the same one he wore each time they talked about Earth. Soft and sad and indulgent. Crowley didn’t quite understand it. He wished that he could.

He wished he could give Aziraphale the Earth, but it wasn’t his to give. Crowley had been on Earth for less than a day before he’d been cursed.

“Angel,” said Crowley, feeling his stomach tighten. He couldn’t give Aziraphale the Earth, but it was right there waiting for him regardless. “Do you want to go home?”

“Go home?” Aziraphale echoed, glancing back down at Crowley. His eyebrows had furrowed.

“You miss Earth, don’t you?” Crowley asked. “Your clouds and Eve grooming your wings and your games with Adam. You should go home.”

“I do…” Aziraphale agreed hesitantly. He began a gentle descent. It was probably wise of him—Crowley didn’t want either of them getting too upset in midair. No telling what could happen. “But I can’t possibly go back. What about you?”

Crowley recalled the anger in Jophiel’s eyes as he banished him from Earth. He didn’t want Aziraphale to have to make a choice between him and Heaven. The outcome wouldn’t matter. Nothing good would come from it. “I think it’s best if I stay here.”

 “Crowley, you’re my friend,” Aziraphale said, his feet touching the ground again, right where they’d left. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I wouldn’t last a day on Earth,” said Crowley. “You have Adam and Eve. You won’t be alone.”

“But _you_ will,” Aziraphale said. “And what would I even say to the other angels?”

“The truth,” Crowley said. “A demon kept you prisoner.”

“But what about you?” Aziraphale asked. “They’ll come after you.”

Crowley felt a twinge of regret; he couldn’t have just let himself enjoy a simple flight with his only friend without ruining it somehow. And now Aziraphale was going to leave. His heart twisted as he slithered off of Aziraphale’s arm and settled onto the log.

“They won’t,” he said, “if you tell them you killed me and escaped.”

Aziraphale blinked. “I’ll never see you again.”

Crowley flicked his tongue out. He didn’t trust himself to say anything. Aziraphale stared at him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Aziraphale reached out and stroked the top of Crowley’s head.

“Go home, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. “Angels don’t belong in Hell.”

Aziraphale’s jaw clenched. He took a breath as though to argue, but the fire in him sputtered out just as quickly as it had risen. He kept running his fingertips over Crowley’s scales. “I know.”

Crowley opened his mouth as Aziraphale rose to his feet. There was something missing from this moment, something he needed to say, but Crowley had no idea what it was. The closest thing to his feeling was the urge to retract everything he had just said, to beg Aziraphale to stay.

But he didn’t want Aziraphale to stay if he wasn’t happy. And he _wasn’t_ happy. Everything came back to Earth with Aziraphale. All except Crowley himself.

“Thank you for being my friend,” was all that Crowley said.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a meaningful look and unfurled his wings.

Crowley hadn’t really gotten a chance to get a good look at Aziraphale’s wings before. The white feathers were beyond messy. At any other time, Crowley might have made a joke about whether he could have really expected anything different from an angel. He couldn’t now. Any spark of amusement was drowned out by the knowledge that he would never see Aziraphale again.

Aziraphale lifted off the ground.

“Goodbye,” left Crowley’s mouth before he could even think.

The angel hovered for a moment, looking back down. He gave Crowley one last smile. “Goodbye.”

Crowley coiled himself around the vase and watched Aziraphale fly away, until the angel was a mere speck in the sky.


	8. let him wander free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAA THE CHAPTER I'VE BEEN WAITING TO WRITE
> 
> So I sort of changed the tags because I realized A Thing happens in the movie and like even though it's still a chapter or two away it's still going to happen.

Aziraphale landed on Earth. Tears welled up in his eyes. This was almost a homecoming. The grace within him –the one that had screamed at him ‘Where are you, Aziraphale? Why are you in Hell?’ those first lonely nights—had quieted down but never fully went away. Now it breathed a sigh of relief.

He was back on Earth. Back home. Among the forests alive with birdsong and the crunch of twigs underfoot. This was where he was supposed to be.

It should have been perfect. It almost was perfect.

Aziraphale blinked away the tears. He rolled his shoulders and patted at his neck. He was still unused to the lack of weight around his shoulders, the absence of cool scales brushing against his neck. Crowley should’ve been there. Aziraphale kept expecting to see him. There. Crowley should have been stretched along that tree branch. Or there, sunbathing in that patch of grass. But he wasn’t in any of the places Aziraphale wanted to see him. He wasn’t on Earth at all.

It couldn’t have been more than two hours and already Aziraphale’s heart was aching. Where was Crowley? Why hadn’t he come along? It was ridiculous. Aziraphale knew where Crowley was. He knew, or at least suspected why, his friend hadn’t come along. But his heart kept asking regardless.

What did Crowley mean that he wouldn’t have lived a day on Earth? Was it related to his curse? Aziraphale had refrained from asking about it after their quarrel, but it still bothered him that Crowley had resigned himself to it. There had to be some way to lift Crowley’s curse. He didn’t _have_ to be a serpent until the end of time.

He certainly didn’t deserve it.

There wasn’t much that Aziraphale could do about it. Nothing at all, really. Crowley had given him nothing to go on. No loopholes, he’d said.

Still, Aziraphale pictured a world where Crowley’s curse had been broken. He knew Crowley would want to go flying. He imagined tugging Crowley’s hand and flying up together to touch the clouds.

Aziraphale felt a pang of longing and regret. He glanced up at the sky. A lonely cloud floated above him. He already knew what it would feel like. Going up by himself would feel like a betrayal. He wanted Crowley to touch the cloud with him.

If only he could have convinced Crowley to come up to Earth with him. But he hadn’t. Aziraphale was alone.

Even as he missed Crowley’s presence, he found his shoulders relaxing. Walking among the familiar forest was a comfort to him. Aziraphale had no real idea of just how long he had spent Down There. It felt like a long time. It felt like no time at all.

Soon he would be at Eden’s gates. He could explain himself to Jophiel. He hoped that Heaven wouldn’t punish him for eternity. He’d already had to give up one of his friends. Aziraphale didn’t think he would be able to handle losing Adam, Eve, and Crowley all in the same day.

He turned away from the path he knew would take him to the Eastern Gate of Eden and towards the south, which he knew was where Jophiel would be watching. He’d never approached the Southern Gate like this before. He wasn’t worried about getting lost, exactly, but he didn’t know how he would be received.

He rehearsed what he was going to tell Jophiel in his mind. _A demon kidnapped me… I killed him and escaped…_ The lie felt so wrong in his head, but there was nothing else Aziraphale could do. This was the best way to be sure that Crowley would be safe. And Aziraphale would always clutch the truth tightly against his heart.

“Hey! Angel!”

The sound of the familiar nickname pulled Aziraphale's attention into the present. He'd grown so used to hearing Crowley call him that. It took him another second to realize that the voice had not been Crowley’s; it was much higher-pitched, and the words had been flung out defiantly. Aziraphale had not even been able to manage glancing around before a sword point appeared at his throat. He balked.

“We got the message the first time. These patrols Jophiel puts you on are useless.”

A woman— _the_ woman stood before him, messy dark curls and flashing brown eyes. Eve. How had he not recognized her immediately, by her voice?

Because never had it even occurred to Aziraphale that she and Adam would not have gone back inside the Garden of Eden.

Eve’s eyes widened and she took the sword away from his throat. She was clothed, like the angels and demons. That was interesting. Adam and Eve hadn’t ever worn clothes before now.

_“Aziraphale?”_

“Eve, why—what are you doing here?” Aziraphale fretted. “What are you doing out of the Garden?”

Eve’s sad brown eyes met his. “They wouldn’t let us back in.”

He blinked, not understanding. Why wouldn’t the angels let Adam and Eve back inside Eden? Nothing made sense. “They—what do you mean? I—I stayed in Hell for you! I… I _told_ you to go back home.”

“Aziraphale,” Eve said. She took Aziraphale’s wrist with her free hand and tugged at him. “Come with me.”

He had no choice but to follow her through the trees until they reached a temporary shelter made of fronds. Aziraphale couldn’t help thinking that they would have done better searching for a cave. Adam sat beside the shelter, biting into a fruit. He too was clothed.

What was going on?

Adam looked up as Eve and Aziraphale came into view, and he gave the two of them a grin. He stood and said, “Aziraphale!” He went to embrace the angel, who stiffly returned it.

“How did you escape the Serpent?” Adam asked him as he pulled away.

Aziraphale was about to reach for the lie he had prepared, but he could not bring himself to come out with it. Crowley was not _the Serpent_. He was Crowley. He was Aziraphale’s friend.

“He let me go,” Aziraphale said, unable to stop the fondness from dripping out of his words. “Crowley and I became friends, and he let me go.”

“Just like that?” Adam sounded skeptical.

Aziraphale nodded and told them of what had happened after he had taken their place in Limbo. He told Adam and Eve about Crowley showing him to the nicest part of the cave; about his escape attempt and Crowley’s rescue; about becoming friends with the Serpent.

He did not mention Crowley’s curse. It was not his place. Aziraphale was aware of how difficult it had been for Crowley to confess, and he would not betray Crowley’s trust in him like that. Not even for his oldest friends.

“He really didn’t harm you?” Eve asked disbelievingly. “At all?”

“Didn’t lay a finger on me,” said Aziraphale. “Er. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“And he let you go… because you missed _us_?” Adam said.

Aziraphale smiled. “He knew that you were my friends. And I have a responsibility to you besides. Which brings me to… this. Why are you two out here? You should be in Eden. Why didn’t you go back like I told you to?

“We did,” Eve said. “We went back, just like you said. But the gate was closed. Another angel was guarding it. And she told us we couldn’t go inside.”

“No—no, it must be a mistake,” Aziraphale said. He slowly shook his head. “You didn’t eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.”

“We didn’t,” Adam agreed.

“You—there was no reason for you to be punished!” Aziraphale continued, hardly acknowledging Adam’s interjection. This was just one other thing he had ruined. “It _must_ be a mistake. I have to—I need to fix it.”

“Aziraphale.” Eve’s voice was gentle. “There is nothing for you to fix.”

“It was all _my_ fault,” he said. There he had been, in Limbo with Crowley, all this time… not knowing that Adam and Eve had been locked out of the Garden. Aziraphale had never imagined anything like this could happen. They were being punished for _his_ mistakes. “I can make them understand—you deserve to be in Eden. If I can just explain that it was my mistake, that I should be the one punished… I’ll get the two of you back home. Just you wait.”

He had already been on his way to the Southern Gate. He hadn’t been looking forward to meeting with Jophiel, but now Aziraphale knew that this was crucial. It was no longer only a matter of taking responsibility for his mistakes. He had to ensure the safety of Adam and Eve—he had to bring them back into Eden.

“Aziraphale,” Eve said again, but he had already turned away.

Knowing he would find Jophiel’s gate faster if he was in the air, he unfurled his wings. Aziraphale turned his head to glance back at his human friends. Adam and Eve looked at him desperately, but he gave them no time to argue with him.

“I promise,” he said, giving them a brave smile. “I’ll fix this.”

He started to run, his wings picking up lift and carrying him up into the air. Adam and Eve called after him, but he ignored them.

It didn’t take him long to find the Southern Gate. He landed nearby, hidden in the trees so as not to startle Jophiel. Aziraphale peered out from behind a thick oak at the gate to Eden. Jophiel stood alert in front of his gate, sword at his waist, gaze flickering. Aziraphale’s nose scrunched.

He knew that he had guarded the Eastern Gate like that only on his first week. It seemed that the archangel took his job seriously for every second that he had been on duty.

He wondered if Jophiel would be able to find compassion or understanding. He hoped that the archangel would be lenient. But regardless of how Jophiel would decide to punish Aziraphale, he knew that he had to set things right.

Aziraphale steeled himself and stepped out of the trees. He held up his hands as he approached and lowered his eyes.

A heartbeat passed.

“Aziraphale.” Jophiel’s voice was a mixture of shock and confusion.

He looked up to meet the archangel’s gaze.

“Where on Earth have you been?” Jophiel asked. He was settling on anger now. Aziraphale swallowed and let him continue. “You—you think you can just shirk your duties and come back?”

“I didn’t—” Aziraphale began, but realized that it wasn’t exactly true. “I made a mistake, Jophiel.”

“Clearly,” he replied.

“But I don’t understand why Adam and Eve are being punished for it,” Aziraphale said. “Please. I have only ever been trying to do the best I could to amend for my errors. I know that I let them leave the Garden. But I shouldn’t be the reason that they can’t go back.”

“Why were you away all this time, then?” Jophiel asked.

Aziraphale bowed his head again. “They found their way into Hell. And then they—they wouldn’t let Adam and Eve go unless… unless I stayed. Jophiel, it wasn’t their fault. It was mine. Please.”

Jophiel took a couple of steps forward and frowned. “And how did you escape?”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath and replied with his practiced lie: “I killed the demons guarding me with holy water.”

Jophiel raised his eyebrows, as though impressed. He glanced at Aziraphale up and down. “And what did they do with you? The demons?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Aziraphale asked, feeling his mouth dry.

“I don’t see a scratch on you, Aziraphale,” said Jophiel. “Surely if you had been taken prisoner by demons they would have tortured you.”

“Well, I—”

“Do you know what I think, Aziraphale?” Jophiel asked, unsheathing his sword. With his other hand, he grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulder roughly. Aziraphale gasped as he was pulled forward. The tip of the sword just barely touched Aziraphale’s stomach. “I think you’re lying. I think you weren’t a prisoner at all.”

The blood drained from Aziraphale’s face. “I’m—I wasn’t tortured. That doesn’t make what I said a lie.”

“I think you’re conspiring with the Serpent,” Jophiel said. “I think he promised to let you go if you came back and destabilized Heaven even more.”

“I did no such thing!” Aziraphale spat, suddenly angry at the accusation. “I am here to plead on behalf of Adam and Eve. Punish me if you must, but it will be for the things I have done, not for the things you suspect me of doing.”

Jophiel’s eyes were hard. “Then tell the truth.”

“I am not plotting against Heaven. The demon did not ask me to make any such promises,” said Aziraphale. “Neither did he torture me.”

“What were you doing in Hell this whole time, then?”

Aziraphale glanced up at the sky helplessly. Jophiel poked at Aziraphale’s stomach with his sword and his attention returned back to the archangel. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Jophiel asked. “How did you leave?”

“I just left. If I’d known of Adam and Eve’s plight I would have returned earlier,” said Aziraphale. “I was afraid of being punished, before. But Adam and Eve are more important than that. Please let them back into Eden.”

Jophiel lowered his sword and shook his head. “The Serpent just let you leave?”

“He’s actually quite nice.”

“Nice?” Jophiel asked incredulously. “ _Nice_? Aziraphale, demons do not have a speck of good in their beings.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said, feeling a touch of annoyance. “Fine.”

“It isn’t fine. You think demons are capable of good, Aziraphale. It isn’t fine. And _you_ aren’t fine,” Jophiel said. He seemed to soften. “Obviously this demon has been manipulating you. Even if you are not consciously aware of it, he has allowed you to come back to Eden—and eventually, back to Heaven—sympathizing with demons. And he will use this to his advantage in the future. Clever bastard.”

Aziraphale’s heart dropped to his feet. Crowley would not do such a thing. They were friends. How could he make Jophiel see? But he couldn’t.

“It isn’t your fault that he has blinded you,” Jophiel promised gently. “But you know you must pay for your actions.”

He turned around and opened the gate to Eden. Aziraphale shifted his feet. This was it, then. Even if he would have to suffer millennia of being Gabriel’s assistant in Heaven, it would be worth it if Adam and Eve could reenter.

The archangel stood aside and waved for Aziraphale to go inside. Aziraphale frowned, but stepped into the Garden, expecting Jophiel to follow him inside. He felt something akin to a freezing splash of water wash over him when he heard the gate shut. He turned to see Jophiel locking the gate behind him.

 He took a shaky breath. “Why are you locking me in here?” 

“Don’t worry. It isn’t for long,” Jophiel said with a smile. “Just as a precaution. You’re confused, Aziraphale.”

“Confused,” Aziraphale echoed, slumping forward. What would Heaven do with an angel who knew that demons weren’t all bad? Would Aziraphale come to believe the same that Jophiel did? That Crowley had only acted in such a way with him so that Hell could advance its agenda? He'd thought that before. 

Had Aziraphale really been flying with Crowley around his neck only hours ago? It felt like centuries since he’d seen his best friend.

“I’m keeping you here until I can come to an agreement with Heaven on what to do with you.”

“But what about Adam and Eve?” he had to ask.

“It isn’t up to me to decide whether the humans can return to Eden,” said Jophiel. He gave the gate a couple of experimental tugs to see if it would open. It didn’t move. “God has His reasons.”

“Please,” Aziraphale begged, knowing he could change nothing. His hands curled around the bars of the gate. “I tried my best to do right.”

“Exactly.” Jophiel looked at him, a bit of coldness returning to his gaze. “Your _best_ was not good enough this time, Aziraphale. I will take care of the Serpent that has manipulated you so, and then we’ll see about your punishment.”

“No,” Aziraphale choked out as Jophiel’s large white wings emerged. He swallowed, picturing his friend being killed by a single slash of Jophiel’s flaming sword. The archangel was such a better fighter than him. Aziraphale jerked on the bars. “No, don’t! Jophiel, please. He’s done nothing.”

“This is for your own good, Aziraphale,” Jophiel said.

And then he was gone.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, closing his eyes and wishing fiercely. He gave the gate another tug and sank down onto the leaves when the gate didn’t budge. “Crowley.”


	9. wasting in my lonely tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a mess but I hope you'll enjoy it. 
> 
> Sorry for leaving off at a cliffhanger and then taking more than a month to update.

When Crowley awoke, the sky had already begun to darken. He’d fallen asleep coiled around Aziraphale’s vase after the angel had left. Now he squinted up as though he would still be able to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale in the sky. Crowley knew he wouldn’t. Aziraphale was long gone by now.

It was growing cold, but Crowley didn’t feel like moving. He would probably never move again. It would mean leaving Aziraphale’s vase. For now, Crowley couldn’t bear parting with it even for a moment. This was all Aziraphale had left him with. This, and the memories of their short-lived friendship.

He could hope that he and Aziraphale would cross paths on Earth. Eternity was long, and he couldn’t know what would be in store for him millennia into the future. But he knew these were frail imaginings. Crowley would never set foot on Earth again.

He could hope that Aziraphale would come back. But these too were delusions. Why would Aziraphale ever want to come back to Hell?

_You_ , the small tendril of hope burning inside Crowley’s chest suggested, but he pushed it aside. Why would Aziraphale come back to Hell for _him_? What could Crowley possibly have to offer that was better than Heaven and Earth itself?

Friendship? Aziraphale _had_ that. He had Adam and Eve.

Crowley would drive himself mad waiting around for something that was never meant to happen. But he couldn’t see any other options. He tried to think back to what he’d done in the days before Aziraphale had lived with him. Not much, truthfully. He’d slept. A lot.

The thought of going back to sleep was enticing, but when he tried to relax again, he found he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. But what else was there? He couldn’t go back into Hell proper.

He resigned himself to waiting in vain. To hoping in vain.

Crowley should have been used to it. He’d been hoping in vain for so long already.

He balanced himself on the vase and gazed at the single pink blossom. It had yet to lose any of its five petals. There was still time. He didn’t know how much, but there was still time left.

This was exhausting. The hoping, the waiting. There had to be a freedom that would come with accepting defeat. With accepting that demons couldn’t love, and that Crowley was no different. A freedom with accepting that the petals were meaningless, that the time was meaningless. But Crowley couldn’t find it. All he felt was dread. It suffocated him.

Because Crowley _wanted_ to love. He wanted the petals to mean something. He wanted that chance. He remembered Aziraphale’s bumbling attempts to explain love and wished that he could just _know_ , the same way it was innate in angels.

Just as he hadn’t stopped wanting his curse lifted, he knew that he wouldn’t stop waiting for Aziraphale. Crowley would be here, long after the petals had turned to dust, waiting.

And if Aziraphale did ever return, it wouldn’t matter that the curse hadn’t broken. He would have Aziraphale back. The angel’s teasing smiles and bright eyes. Aziraphale’s soft, gentle fingers stroking Crowley’s scales. Their playful bickering. That was more than enough to make up for any unbroken spell. It was better than an unbroken spell.

Crowley froze at this realization. It felt as though the sun had moved back an inch in the sky, halting the dusk.

What had—what had Aziraphale said about love, before?

That it was warm. That it was safe. There was trust. Trust and vulnerability.

Crowley trusted Aziraphale. Who else would he reveal his curse to? He would spend all day dozing, wrapped around the angel’s shoulders. Who else would he feel so secure around? Aziraphale had rescued and healed him, Aziraphale had wanted to help break his curse, Aziraphale hadn’t _wanted_ to leave. At least, not without Crowley. Over and over again, Aziraphale had given Crowley reason to trust him and had returned it in kind.

Love had been there before Crowley could even recognize it as such. He remembered love in Heaven—that it had been all-encompassing. And now he realized that it was like that now too; underneath every word spoken, every action, every thought around Aziraphale, love had been there.

“I love Aziraphale,” he said, startling himself. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He looked back at the blossom and grinned at it. “Did you hear that? I love Aziraphale.”

Demons could love. At least, _this_ demon could. And he did. Crowley _loved_.

The angels had been wrong— _Jophiel_ had been wrong. Aziraphale, too. Crowley was willing to forgive Aziraphale for it. After all, it wasn’t as though Crowley hadn’t believed it as well. Jophiel though—he’d had no right. Crowley hadn’t deserved the curse.

Jophiel had done it only for amusement. He hadn’t been motivated by curiosity or even a rightful punishment. He’d done it to throw salt in the wound that the Fall had left.

Wasn’t Hell bad enough?

But that wouldn’t matter once the spell was broken. He would be able to go back to Earth and find Aziraphale, and they would—Crowley didn’t even know what they would do, but they would do it together.

When Aziraphale had been here, Crowley had imagined what they would do on Earth if the curse had broken. Now those daydreams fell away from him. Not because they were unattainable, but because now that Crowley knew what love was, reality could only be better than those feeble daydreams.

He waited for the change. For his core to pulse outward and mold his body in the form he was meant to be in.

Nothing happened.           

“I love Aziraphale,” he whispered to the blossom again, as though it would respond if he repeated it enough. His breath brushed against the petals. Still, there was nothing.

And then he understood why.

Aziraphale didn’t love him in return. 

He hadn’t been trying to get Aziraphale to love him. He might have felt stupid now, but Crowley couldn’t bring himself to regret his decision. Would it have really been love if he had tried to force it on the angel?

Aziraphale had been the first person to ever call Crowley his friend. He knew that Aziraphale cared about him, but that obviously wasn’t enough to lift the curse.

Crowley had been wrong, before.

This would end with fallen petals, a demon in love with an angel, and an unbroken spell.

If he hadn’t felt as though his heart had been dashed against the ground, Crowley could have laughed. Aziraphale had wanted to break his curse so badly. Now that he was Crowley’s only chance, he didn’t love Crowley enough for the spell to break.

He wanted to go back to feeling like it didn’t matter. That as long as Aziraphale came back, no matter if the petals had all turned to dust, it would be enough. And if it really came down to it, it was enough just to see Aziraphale again. But now Crowley _knew_ that this was love. And why would he settle if he had a sliver of a chance to go back to his preferred form again?

Crowley wanted it _all_ ; his human shape and his wings and his love and his Aziraphale.

“Will you help me?” Crowley pleaded to the blossom’s petals. “Can you stay like this forever? Or until Aziraphale comes back?”

The petals fluttered against his breath again. Crowley tensed to see if one would fall. None did, but it didn’t mean that he was reassured.

“I thought not.” Crowley deflated. “So this is how you thank me for taking such good care of you, isn’t it? I could have let you dry up in the sun.”

He was quiet for another moment. He flicked out his tongue and looked back at the blossom. “Do you think I’ve got a shot anyway?”

He waited, as though the petals could respond.

Finally, he nodded. “I don’t know either.”

Crowley slithered down the vase and began to make his way back to the cave. He didn’t think he could quite take the cold anymore, and memories of Aziraphale abounded there as well. Somewhere nearby, tree branches shook.

Crowley whirled around, feeling his hopes soar. There was hardly a breeze; the shaking branches could only mean a clumsy landing. He cast out his senses to see if he could detect angelic energy—and indeed, there it was.

Had Aziraphale really come back so soon? Crowley could barely contain his excitement as he followed the aura. He was doubling back. The angel had landed by his petals, no doubt thinking Crowley would still be there. _You just missed me_ , Crowley thought gleefully.

As he drew closer, he could tell something was wrong. This couldn’t be Aziraphale’s aura. It was much too strong; Aziraphale was merely a principality. This aura could have belonged to an archangel.

In fact, it did belong to an archangel. Crowley recognized it a moment before Jophiel entered his line of sight. Jophiel held his sword loosely, as if he wasn’t bothered by officially entering enemy territory.

“I thought it might be you,” said Jophiel as Crowley warily approached.

“That I might be who?” Crowley asked. He glanced at the petals. Jophiel had not touched them.

Jophiel pointed his sword at him, and Crowley flinched back. “The one who corrupted Aziraphale’s mind. Have we gone from tempting humanity to manipulating angels now?”

“What are you talking about?” Crowley hissed. “I haven’t done anything.”

“You were the one who took Aziraphale prisoner. Am I wrong, Serpent?” Jophiel asked.

Crowley stared at the sword. He hated— _hated_ —to admit it to this archangel who was just going to smite him no matter what he said. But it was the truth. “I did. For a time, anyway.”

“And what did you do with him?”

Crowley reared up and bared his fangs. “I _ssssaved_ him. I sssssaved him from a couple of Dukes. Didn’t think a selfless act like that counted as corruption.”

“It does when your motives are tainted,” Jophiel said.

“I just wanted him to live.”

“Did you?” Jophiel raised his eyebrows. He took a step closer to Crowley and paused as something seemed to dawn on him. His lips curled upwards slowly, forming a mean smirk. “Or was it that you wanted Aziraphale to live so you could get him to fall in love with you?”

“No—”

Jophiel lowered his sword and looked at the lonely blossom in its vase. “I see one of the blossoms still has all of its petals. Tell me, Serpent.” He glanced back at Crowley. “Did you send Aziraphale away when you realized you could not use his love to return you to your previous form?”

Crowley’s stomach twisted. He’d never liked the idea of _using_ Aziraphale’s love. Jophiel’s accusations could not be further from the truth. “I sent him away because...” _It was the right thing to do._ But Jophiel wouldn’t believe it if he stated it with such forthrightness. He hesitated. “He wanted to leave.”

Jophiel stared at him and laughed. “Oh, don’t tell me! Do you really think _you_ love _him_?”

“I do,” Crowley confirmed softly. “I love him.”

“You’re a demon,” Jophiel growled.

“You said,” Crowley faltered. “You said the curse was to prove whether or not demons could love. I’m telling you now that _I_ love.”

“The curse was to prove demons could not love, and that demons could not be loved,” Jophiel said. “If you truly think you love Aziraphale, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind we up the stakes a bit? The curse is as good as half broken, after all.”

Crowley frowned. “What do you—”

Jophiel turned suddenly to the blossom and plucked one of the petals off. “He loves you.” He picked off another one. “He loves you not.”

“What are you doing?” Crowley asked. “Don’t!”

Jophiel glanced at him, eyes glinting. He tore off a third petal. “He loves you.”

“Stop!” Crowley lunged at the archangel. He pushed Jophiel’s hand away from the blossom, inadvertently knocking the vase down onto the ground. The vase shattered, splattering water. Another petal fell on its own.

“Loves you not,” said Jophiel with a smirk.

Crowley felt chilled to the bone. A single petal remained.

Worse than that, he’d destroyed Aziraphale’s gift to him. The vase had taken Aziraphale so much time to make. He’d been so happy to make it for Crowley. And Crowley had broken it, for what? To protect his blossom? To retain all of the time he could before the curse was final?

Aziraphale wasn’t coming back. He was probably in Heaven awaiting –or already serving out—his punishment.

The curse wasn’t going to break.

He just couldn’t handle the fact that Jophiel had plucked off the petals solely to rub it in.

Crowley whipped around to face Jophiel, breathing heavily. He was so angry he could hardly get a word out. “You—why—how could you?”

“You play a long game, Serpent. Aziraphale truly believes there is _good_ in you.” Jophiel spat out the word as though the very notion disgusted him. “But no matter. He’ll soon come to realize you deceived him. And if he doesn’t, well. You won’t be a problem anymore, regardless.”

Jophiel raised his sword.

Crowley was not going to die like this. He had endured enough of Jophiel’s torment. If Jophiel was going to kill him, Crowley would not make it easy.

He reared back and got ready to dodge the blade. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also sorry for taking more than a month to update and then leaving it at an even worse cliffhanger.


	10. we don't like what we don't understand (kill the beast)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the tags, I suggest you do so.

Aziraphale could not open the Southern Gate, even with a miracle. An energy had dispersed his magic and overtaken it. He had also tried flying over the physical gate itself, but just as the magical barrier had woven away his miracles, it had kept him back. It would only cease until the gate was opened again from the outside.

Back on the ground, Aziraphale paced around, feeling more trapped than he ever had during the first few days with Crowley. His wings were still out, flapping agitatedly behind him.

Jophiel had been remarkably thorough. His gate was well protected even without his presence. He could try to counter Jophiel’s spell, but he knew it was useless. The archangel’s power exceeded his own. Aziraphale would have to try to physically force the gate open, and he didn’t have a lot of options in that regard. He didn’t have his sword to cut through the lock or any tool to help pry it open.

All he could think of was that he was wasting time. Every moment he was stuck in here was a moment Crowley was in danger. He imagined Crowley being struck down by Jophiel’s flaming sword again and squeezed his eyes shut, taking a few breaths to calm himself. Aziraphale tried to push his worries away; he wouldn’t be able to think of a way to escape if he kept lingering on worst-case scenarios.

Aziraphale kicked the gate in frustration, but though it vibrated as it took in the force of the impact, it held.

“Fuck,” said Aziraphale.

He was beginning to think that there was no way he would pass through the Southern Gate. Even if he was able to, it would might be too late. Crowley might well be dead by the time Aziraphale returned. There had to be another way.

It occurred to him, accompanied by a flash of embarrassment that he hadn’t thought of it before, that there were three other gates to Eden. And he had been the guardian of one. The Eastern Gate of Eden was _his_. Certainly Jophiel wouldn’t have had the time to fortify the other three gates of Eden. 

Adam and Eve had mentioned that he had been replaced by another angel when they had come back. And if Jophiel hadn’t strengthened the barriers around the other gates, he wouldn’t have had the time to inform the other angels of the exact circumstances of Aziraphale’s disappearance. The other angels wouldn’t know that Aziraphale was to stay in Eden until he went up to Heaven to serve out his sentence.

A spark of hope lit itself, deep in his chest. Maybe he could leave Eden without a fight. He just wasn’t sure what he would tell the other angel.

He would figure something out, Aziraphale decided. But he couldn’t stay here, pacing around the Southern Gate, waiting for an answer that wouldn’t come.

Aziraphale went deeper into the Garden, leaving the Southern Gate behind him. He knew instinctively where the Eastern Gate would be. He was still its guardian. He hadn’t been dismissed from his duty. The other angel had just picked up his slack when he went missing.

The last time he had gone into Eden, he’d been on a search for Adam and Eve. Although he’d had reason to be concerned, the worry had not yet taken hold of him. Aziraphale had taken the time to admire God’s handiwork during his search. Now Aziraphale raced through the trees, his surroundings a vibrant green blur around him. It was only by sheer miracle (not of his own) that he didn’t run into any trees.

The only thing that mattered was reaching the Eastern Gate.

As the sky began to darken, the familiar gate came into view. Aziraphale began to slow. His veins were on fire and his lungs couldn’t get enough air. He pushed the gate experimentally. It was locked, but he could tell that there wasn’t any extra magic guarding it.

The relief that washed over him nearly knocked him down to his knees. Aziraphale wheezed and grabbed one of the bars of his gate to steady himself.

“Aziraphale? Is that you?”

He looked up to see a frowning angel standing a few feet away from the gate. Aziraphale could tell that she was a principality by her aura, but they had never met before. Though she looked dubious, her sword was sheathed, and there was more curiosity in the tilt of her head than anything else.

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. “You must be the replacement. I assumed you’d be around.”

The other principality blinked. “I’m more of a substitute than a replacement. My name is Nerilael.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said. “So Heaven was planning on reinstating me, then?”

“I suppose,” Nerilael said hesitantly. “After they’d found you. Where have you been? Have you been in there this whole time?”

“I seem to have gotten lost,” said Aziraphale. It was a pathetic non-answer, but hopefully Nerilael would let him out anyway.

“Lost.”

“Yes.”

“In Eden,” Nerilael said.

“That’s right.” Aziraphale smiled. “Now if you would be so kind as to let me out…”

Nerilael’s eyebrows furrowed. She took a step closer. “You really think I believe that?”

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth. He wanted to say that it was worth a try, but instead he shrugged.

“What really happened?” she asked.

Aziraphale realized that if he had any chance, he had to tell the truth. Or at least, some version of it. If he told her that he needed to rush into Hell to save a demon from Jophiel’s wrath, she would might call Heaven down herself. He needed to twist his story somehow.  “Adam and Eve left Eden. And I followed them. It was my duty to protect them.”

“It was your duty to protect this _gate,_ ” Nerilael corrected.

Aziraphale blinked. When he had received those orders, he had conflated the ideas of guarding the gate and guarding his humans into one. If demons got into Eden, then Adam and Eve would be in trouble. He hadn’t realized until now that his assignment had been quite simple.

“Does—does Heaven not _care_?” Aziraphale asked. “They were in danger.”

Nerilael shook her head. “I don’t think it matters whether or not we care, Aziraphale. Adam and Eve left Eden. _You_ let them.”

“I did,” Aziraphale said. “It was my fault. I came back to make Jophiel see… that Adam and Eve may return to the Garden… but I fear I may have made matters worse.”

“So that’s why you’re in there.” Nerilael seemed pleased to have her answer.

“Are you going to let me out?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’m afraid not,” she said.

Aziraphale hit one of the bars of the gate. Nerilael flinched back. Behind her, a shadow shuddered in the trees. Aziraphale took a deep breath and shook his head. It must have been a bird or something. 

“Please,” Aziraphale said, trying to calm himself. “Principality to principality. I am asking you for this one favor, Nerilael. My friend is in danger.”

“Jophiel wouldn’t harm a human,” Nerilael assured. “Adam and Eve might have been banned from Eden, but they are still God’s creations.”

“We were assigned to guard the gates of Eden from demons, am I right?” Aziraphale asked. “But are not demons also God’s creations? If we harm demons, what is to keep us from harming humans?”

Nerilael looked utterly lost. “Aziraphale, you’re beginning to concern me. Demons are not God’s creations. They have remade themselves in the image of bitterness.”

“My friend is in danger,” Aziraphale said again. He didn’t hear her words. His desperation was beginning to drown him. “ _Please._ ”

The shadows in the trees twitched again. Adam and Eve stepped out. Aziraphale straightened and Nerilael glanced behind her shoulder too late. Eve rushed towards her.

Nerilael started and fought to unsheathe her sword, but Eve ducked out of range. Eve swung her— _Aziraphale’s_ —sword at the lock and the gate creaked open. Aziraphale scrambled out. Nerilael looked stunned. She pointed her sword, alight with flame, at Eve, and then at Adam, and then at Aziraphale, not knowing who to go after.

“We’ve been through this before,” Nerilael said. She between Adam and Eve. “I’m not allowed to let the two of you back in.”

“We aren’t here for that,” Adam said. He stepped backwards, taking Aziraphale’s wrist in his hand. “We’re here for Aziraphale.”

“You can go back in,” Aziraphale said lowly. “The gate’s open. I’m the true guardian here.”

“Aziraphale.” Eve’s voice held a note of fondness. She smiled, but neither of the humans made a move to enter the Garden. “I told you before. There is nothing for you to fix. Let’s go.”

“But—” Nerilael took a step towards them, but Eve held her back.

“Let us go,” Eve said to her. “Adam and I won’t come back again. Just let him go.”

Nerilael shifted her feet. The flames on her sword sputtered out, and she lowered her weapon.

“I don’t know what’s going on here exactly,” she said. “But you owe me, Aziraphale.”

“I-I know,” Aziraphale stammered, taking an experimental step back. “Thank you.”

Nerilael did nothing. She stood straight and still, tense in case Adam and Eve tried to get past her again, but she let them retreat back into the trees without going after them. Aziraphale exhaled with relief. He was free.

They made their way through the trees quietly.

Finally, Aziraphale could not bear it any longer. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you go back inside?”

Neither of his friends replied. After a moment, Eve said, “Eden is beautiful. The love we felt there, the happiness... Nothing can compare. But we don’t want to go back.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale asked.

“In Eden, there is only one way to be close to Father,” Adam said. “What use is free will if you don’t have any choices?”

“You had choices,” said Aziraphale.

“Not many.” Eve took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. “We get to create our own choices now.”

“But you’ll die,” Aziraphale said, feeling tears begin to build.

Adam smiled. “Are we not made in God’s image?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“And isn’t God eternal?” Eve asked.

Aziraphale sniffed and nodded again.

“Then we won’t truly be gone either,” Eve said gently. She offered the sword back to him. “Thank you for letting me use it. It’s saved our lives. But I think you might need it now more than I will.”

Aziraphale’s hand curled around the hilt. The weight of his blade was indescribably welcome and familiar. He gasped, staring at it for a moment. He needed to go find Crowley. Now. But part of him couldn’t bear to leave Adam and Eve again. Especially without leaving them his sword.

“Go,” Adam said. He reached out to take Eve’s hand, and they smiled at him. A feeling of security washed over him. He had kept them safe after all. It was their turn to do the same with him.

Aziraphale spread out his wings and went.  

.

Aziraphale’s wings ached with how much he had flown today. He wasn’t used to exercising his wings so much. He had landed not too long ago, but the muscles in his wings and his legs were protesting. His easy days in Limbo with Crowley had not prepared him for anything like this. Aziraphale rolled his shoulders and pushed past the discomfort. He gripped his sword tighter and relished the feeling of it in his hands.

Aziraphale trudged through the thicket and heard the crackle of flames. He stepped up his pace.

He burst out from the trees to see Jophiel throwing Crowley’s body onto the grass. Crowley hissed and spat, and Aziraphale realized with relief that his friend not only was still alive but to his eye, even appeared unharmed.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Crowley taunted the archangel.

Jophiel didn’t engage in the banter. He brought his sword, bright and crackling with flames, down in an arch. Aziraphale lunged over and blocked his strike with his own blade. Sparks of fire rained onto the ground and the force of the impact traveled up Aziraphale’s arm, but he held his ground. Aziraphale willed the embers on the grass to sputter out. Jophiel took a step back, eyes glinting with fury.

Aziraphale stood over Crowley, already panting and shaking with exertion. His earlier trek through Eden and Earth as well as his flight back into Hell had already sapped so much of his energy, but he could not let Jophiel kill his best friend. He _needed_ to win this fight.

“Aziraphale?” he heard Crowley murmur disbelievingly from behind him.

“Hello, Crowley.” Aziraphale wished he could glance back at his friend, but he couldn’t let Jophiel take him by surprise. Instead he tightened his grip on his sword and glared at the archangel.

“You came back,” Crowley said. He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself that Aziraphale was truly there.

Aziraphale felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to lift Crowley into his arms and carry him far away from all of this. “Of course, my dear.”

Jophiel scowled. “How did you get out?”

“Adam and Eve found me,” he said. “They let me go.”

“Impossible,” Jophiel said. He frowned, eyebrows pulling together. “I strengthened the gate.”

“Yours, perhaps,” Aziraphale conceded. “But not _mine._ ”

“What about Nerilael?” Jophiel demanded.

“She knows who the true guardian of the Eastern Gate is,” said Aziraphale simply. “Now leave Crowley in peace. I don’t want to fight you.”

Jophiel tapped the point of Aziraphale’s sword with his own. “Leave him in peace? When he hasn’t given you the same respect? Look at yourself, Aziraphale. You escape the Garden to protect a _demon_. Stand aside and let me dispatch the Serpent.”

“I’d really rather you not dispatch me,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale wished he could have shared that moment of humor with his friend, but he was too worried. He swallowed but did not move. He willed his sword to light with flames and repeated to Jophiel, “I don’t want to fight you.”

Jophiel sighed and shook his head disappointedly. “I don’t want to fight you, either.”

The last word had not completely left his lips when Jophiel sprang forward, stabbing his sword downwards. Aziraphale moved a moment too late; Crowley yelped behind him, but he could not afford to check over his friend. He knocked Jophiel to the side, attempting to bring the hilt down on the archangel’s head.

Jophiel twisted out of the way, but Aziraphale was not going to wait for him to attack again. He pressed in closer, slashing his sword across Jophiel’s shoulder. The archangel snarled, stepping back. Jophiel lunged but Aziraphale was ready to block his attack this time. The two flaming swords met and ground against each other.

Drops of fire scattered about the grass and he heard Crowley hiss. Aziraphale risked a quick glance behind him. A spark of holy fire had landed on Crowley’s scales, but he still seemed fine.

Jophiel pushed forward to break the block. Aziraphale’s arm gave out with all of the force being pressed in on it. Jophiel took his chance to slice a cut across Aziraphale’s chest.

Aziraphale gasped with the pain.

“Angel!” Crowley yelled worriedly, but he sounded far and away.

He shook his head and redoubled his grip on the hilt of his flaming sword. Jophiel lunged again, aiming low. The sword carved out a gash on Aziraphale’s thigh and the principality almost fell onto his knees. He pushed past the pain and counterattacked. Jophiel knocked his sword aside as easily as batting away a fly and kicked Aziraphale in the chest.

Aziraphale felt his breath be forcefully pushed from his body. He fell back and tried to scramble onto his feet again.

Pain lanced through his left palm and he looked down onto the ground to see the shattered remains of the vase he’d made for Crowley. He couldn’t see Crowley’s flowers. Aziraphale closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t heard the vase break on the ground. Had it shattered before Aziraphale arrived? Had Jophiel done it?

“Angel,” Crowley said again. He could feel Crowley’s head nudge at Aziraphale’s right hand, still tightly holding onto his sword. Aziraphale opened his eyes. “You’re okay. Keep on.”

“Too right,” Aziraphale replied absently, struggling to get to his feet.

Jophiel closed in on him, but Crowley rushed him and sank his fangs into the archangel’s ankle, giving Aziraphale enough time to stand. Jophiel grunted and kicked out at Crowley, who retreated a few paces and shook his head.  Aziraphale came at Jophiel swinging, his sword grazing against Jophiel’s midsection. The archangel took a sharp inhale and attacked again.

Aziraphale tried to block it, but he wasn’t quite fast enough and Jophiel’s sword slashed through the flesh of Aziraphale’s sword-arm. Aziraphale gasped, grip loosening on the hilt of his sword but not releasing it altogether.

“You,” Jophiel said, bringing the hilt of his own sword down on Aziraphale’s head, “need to learn your place, Aziraphale.”

 Aziraphale wheezed as he fell back again. He let go of his sword and it clattered to the ground. His head spun. His arms ached and his cuts were burning. The holy fire from the swords didn’t hurt him at all, but the blades were sharp.

 “What sort of angel fights one of their own for a demon?” Jophiel asked disdainfully.

Aziraphale reached for his sword again, but Jophiel was not interested in going after Aziraphale further. He turned toward Crowley and a spike of fear drove through Aziraphale’s heart.

“No,” Aziraphale rasped, his hand closing around the hilt.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Crowley dodge Jophiel’s blade, hissing. Aziraphale painfully rose to his feet. Crowley went in and bit Jophiel again, but this time the archangel was ready for it. Instead of kicking out instinctively, as he’d done before, Jophiel brought his sword down on the serpent, stabbing and twisting his sword through.

Crowley let out a yowl, letting go of Jophiel’s leg and falling down into coils.

A normal stab would have been painful for Crowley. But Jophiel’s sword had also been burning with holy fire. The fire ate up everything that was unholy.

“No, no,” Aziraphale said, stumbling forward. “Crowley!”

“I just did you a favor,” said Jophiel coldly. “Now come home.”

Aziraphale ignored him and pushed past him to Crowley. He collapsed onto his knees, eyes roving over Crowley’s injuries. There was so much blood. “Crowley?”

“Angel,” Crowley groaned.

Aziraphale let out a distressed whimper as he brushed his fingers gently across Crowley’s wound. His hand came away bloody. Crowley hissed with pain. He murmured an apology as he lifted Crowley into his arms, pressing his hand more firmly into his wound to stop the blood. Aziraphale bit his lip as he focused on funneling all of the healing power that he could into his friend. Blood was covering his hand and staining his robes, but Aziraphale hardly noticed. The wound hadn’t even stopped bleeding yet.

“Hellfire,” Aziraphale gasped. He remembered Crowley mention that hellfire had healing properties for demons. He expected that hellfire was just as deadly to angels as holy water or fire was for demons, but he pushed that aside. For Crowley, Aziraphale would risk it. He stood up on his feet, his own injuries protesting against all of his jostling. But they were minor wounds. They didn’t matter. “Where can I find hellfire, Crowley?”

Crowley’s breaths were labored, but he managed to squirm in his arms and shake his head. “Too late for that.”

“No, no,” Aziraphale begged. “My dear, no. You’ll be all right. Just tell me. Let me help you.”

“Stay,” Crowley said. “Please stay.”

“What do I do?” Aziraphale asked. “Crowley.”

Crowley trembled. He looked up at Aziraphale with his striking golden eyes and gave a low of pain. “You came back for me.”

“I came back,” Aziraphale agreed. “Only for you.”

Aziraphale stroked the scales on Crowley’s head softly. Crowley sighed and relaxed in his arms. He gave one final shudder and grew still.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked.

His friend didn’t reply.

Aziraphale felt tears spring to his eyes. He shook Crowley gently, as though he were asleep. “Crowley?”

“He’s dead,” Jophiel said, coming up from behind him. He almost seemed smug. “It’s time to come home now, Aziraphale.”

“What sort of angel are _you_ , to laugh at another’s pain? You killed him.” Aziraphale’s voice wavered. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to keep himself steady. “You killed my best friend.”

He looked back down at Crowley’s still form.             

“Please come back,” he whispered. “I came back for you. Please. Do the same for me. Crowley. My Crowley.”

Aziraphale buried his face into Crowley’s coils, feeling blood smear onto his cheeks. He didn’t care that he was covered in blood, or that he had his own wounds to treat. He cared that just moments ago, Crowley had been bright-eyed and alive. Fighting by his side, even. Now he was gone. He was gone and Aziraphale was the only person who cared. The only person who _loved_ Crowley. What demons would care about Crowley’s death? What angel cared for a fallen Enemy?

Only Aziraphale.

Aziraphale let out a sob. Tears spilled down his cheeks and Aziraphale clutched Crowley tighter in his arms.

Out of Aziraphale’s sight, the final petal wilted and fluttered to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone keeping score, this is the first chapter in which Aziraphale actually calls Crowley "my dear." 
> 
> I love writing Aziraphale saying "fuck" it's so satisfying. I could do it all day.


	11. tale as old as time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Soft one, folks.

It was almost like sleep. A void pulled Crowley’s consciousness inside. Deeper and deeper until Crowley didn’t know he was dying, didn’t know he was unconscious, didn’t know he was dead. Time stopped. Space ceased to have meaning.

There was nothing. No light, no dark. No warmth, no cold. No silence, no sound. No thought, no feeling.

Nothing.

Crowley didn’t even know there was nothing.

Crowley wasn’t there to know. It was an undefinable Emptiness.

And then, suddenly, there was a spark.

Crowley was there, and so _something_ existed after all. 

It wasn’t as gentle as waking up from a dream. Death had pulled Crowley; this was more of a shove. He took a startled breath, his heart pounding as time restarted and light flooded in. Sound rushed into his ears and air brushed against his scales.

Crowley recognized the distinct sensation of weightlessness. How was he flying? He didn’t have his wings. Following this was warmth—no, _heat_ , because Crowley was growing hotter than he ever remembered being.

Crowley groaned. Everything came all at once. It was too much. The light, the heat, the feeling, the thought, the noise. And it wasn’t stopping.

His aura was pulsing outwards like a flame. His entire body felt like it was splitting into parts. Crowley closed his eyes—c _losed his eyes? —_ as his scales were replaced with human skin. His limbs ripped free. With a final pulse, Crowley’s wings emerged and all of the overwhelming sensations ebbed away. The feeling of weightlessness receded, and Crowley felt cold grass brush against his skin.

Crowley opened his eyes. It took them a quick moment to focus and Crowley righted himself onto his hands and knees.

Hands and knees.

Crowley lifted his right hand and inspected it, opening and closing his fist. He turned to his left and did the same. His wounds had healed, and he wore a robe, but his still body ached where Jophiel had stabbed him. He kneeled and curled his white wings in around himself.

His curse was broken.

Crowley turned to see Aziraphale standing frozen a few feet away. His robes were torn and bloodied, face smeared with blood, sweat, and tears. His sword was lain at his feet, no longer blazing with holy fire.  

Jophiel stood behind Aziraphale and looked between the principality and the demon. He stepped backwards, face reddening. He tightened his grip on his own sword, still roaring with flames, and glared. “This cannot be true. It _cannot_ be true.”

If his head hadn’t been swimming, Crowley might have been able to feel a rush of triumph. But nothing felt real. This had to be some sort of dream. He let out a shaky breath. “Seems I’ve won our bet.”

Jophiel trembled and sputtered with his fury, but it seemed that he could not figure out how to reply. His breathing was fast and heavy. He turned to look back at the other angel. “I’m not finished with you, Aziraphale. Just you wait till all of the other archangels hear of this.”

Aziraphale didn’t react. He stared down at Crowley as though he was the only thing that existed.

The archangel glowered at them for a moment longer before turning away. His wings unfurled and then Jophiel was gone.

Crowley painfully rose to his feet and took a step towards Aziraphale. He stumbled, and this was when Aziraphale finally broke from his paralysis. Aziraphale leapt forward and caught him by his forearms. Instinctively Crowley’s fingers latched around Aziraphale’s wrists, and Aziraphale grunted with pain. Crowley remembered the angel’s injuries and he grimaced as he looked at Aziraphale’s bloody chest.

“Oh, you’re hurt,” he said softly, pouring out some healing power into the angel. Aziraphale sighed as the pain receded. Crowley met his eyes.

They were standing so close.

Standing.

Crowley had legs and feet to stand on. He had arms and hands that were latched onto Aziraphale’s wrists. He had his wings, out but relaxed behind him. He was no longer a serpent. The curse was broken. There was only one thing that could have done it.

Crowley knew his feelings. There was only one other _person_ who could have broken the curse.

Yet doubt still seized his chest. He swallowed and tried to convince himself he wasn’t dreaming.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, astonished. Tears welled in his eyes.

 “Angel,” Crowley rasped. He couldn’t quite stop his eyes from roaming all over Aziraphale’s face. How could Aziraphale possibly be here standing in front of him, his fingers curled gently and firmly around Crowley’s wrists? How could Aziraphale be here, in love with Crowley as much as Crowley was with him? He didn’t know if he dared to believe it. But the terms of the curse could not lie. “You love me?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said without pause. His hands squeezed Crowley’s wrists, as though he was also doubting his vision. He squeezed again and let out a relieved sigh. “Crowley, yes, I love you.”

Aziraphale was real. _This_ was real.

Crowley’s breath hitched. He pulled Aziraphale closer by his wrists and kissed him, his eyes fluttering shut. Aziraphale let out a little surprised sound from the back of his throat. Crowley almost backed away, but Aziraphale followed him to return the kiss.

One of Crowley’s hands travelled from Aziraphale’s wrist to cup his cheek. He stroked Aziraphale’s cheek with his thumb and felt the dried blood under his fingertips. That was Crowley’s own blood, he knew.  His blood mixed with Aziraphale’s grieving tears.

The angel gasped, his hands finding Crowley’s waist. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, and Crowley found himself beginning to grin. He threaded his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls and thought how marvelous it was that he was alive, and that he was here with Aziraphale, and that Aziraphale had lifted his curse.

Aziraphale breathed a laugh and began to pull away, but Crowley wasn’t finished reveling in his nearness. He pressed in closer, and felt Aziraphale’s warmth against him. _Nothing_ could ever be better than this. He’d been right to think that none of his daydreams would be able to compare to reality.

The angel murmured into his mouth and broke the kiss with a gentle push back. Crowley stopped this time and blinked at Aziraphale. He waited.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale swallowed, his gaze roving around Crowley’s face. “How can this be? You said it was impossible.”

Crowley traced Aziraphale’s jaw. He washed away the dried blood on the angel’s face with a miracle. “I thought it was impossible.”

“But?” Aziraphale prompted.

“Clearly it wasn’t,” said Crowley with a grin. His heart felt like it couldn’t contain his elation. Crowley leaned in for another kiss, but Aziraphale kept him back, unsatisfied with this answer. His grin faded into a soft smile. “Love broke my curse, Aziraphale.”

“My love?” Aziraphale asked, brows furrowing. “Is that why—but my dear, why didn’t you say this before? If my love was all you needed—”

“ _Our_ love,” Crowley corrected. “For the curse to break, I needed to fall in love and be loved in return. Before all those bloody petals fell. And I believed demons couldn’t love. That’s why I said it was impossible.”

“That’s why you were always fussing over those blossoms,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley let out a laugh and nodded.

Aziraphale’s amusement evaporated. Guilt replaced it, turning the corners of the angel’s mouth downward and drawing his gaze away from Crowley. He turned away and kneeled by the shattered remains of the vase. He gathered them together. With a wave of his hand, the vase was whole again.

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale stood again and offered the vase to Crowley, his eyes still cast downward. “I didn’t believe you could love.”

Crowley’s fingers brushed against Aziraphale’s as he took the vase. He set it aside, safely out of the way.

“Aziraphale,” said Crowley, reaching out to touch the angel on his shoulder. Aziraphale met his gaze and Crowley smiled. “Aziraphale, nobody did. How could you have known, if even I didn’t?”

Instead of replying, Aziraphale kissed him. Crowley laughed into Aziraphale’s mouth and pulled away.

“My dear?” Aziraphale asked. He hesitated. “Would you come to Earth with me?”

Crowley rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s and breathed him in. “Nothing would make me happier, angel.”

Aziraphale brightened and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “I kept wanting to see you, but you weren’t there.”

“I’m coming with you,” Crowley promised.

The angel smiled and pulled away, bending down to take his sword. He manifested a scabbard and sheathed the sword.

Crowley had placed the vase aside on the grass. Now he turned to set it back on top of the log, where it had been when Aziraphale had first given it to him. Crowley made sure the vase was properly balanced. It would stay here for eternity; a testament to their tale. Crowley ran a finger along the rim of the vase and silently said goodbye.

.

Morning had broken when Crowley and Aziraphale finally set foot back on Earth, turning the sky into a milky pink. Aziraphale tugged on Crowley’s arm and pointed to the sky. A white ball of fluff floated in the sky. It reminded Crowley of downy feathers. It looked so soft and inviting. Crowley almost wanted to fly up and sleep on it. A cloud. Crowley could understand why Aziraphale would go up to touch them.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s wings and smiled. “Do you want to?”

“Now?” The two of them had had quite a day. Crowley would take any chance to exercise his wings, but Aziraphale was undoubtedly exhausted. He didn’t mind waiting for the angel to rest. There would be other clouds.

“Now,” Aziraphale agreed, unfolding his wings. “Just for a quick moment.”

“If you’re up for it,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale beamed at him and his wings began to beat. He lifted off the ground and tugged Crowley’s arm until he smiled back and followed the angel into the sky.

It had been so long since Crowley had last flown under his own power. He never wanted it to end. They climbed higher and higher than Crowley remembered ever being. When they were close enough to touch the cloud, Crowley reached out.

Although Aziraphale had told him that it mostly felt cold and wet, Crowley still had been expecting to feel something soft as feathers. He was half-surprised to feel that it was like mist. The water vapor swirled around them and Crowley found himself laughing.

“After you let me go, when I got back to Earth, I didn’t want to do this without you,” Aziraphale said. “It would have felt wrong to.”

“You wouldn’t have done it ever again?” Crowley asked. “Just because I wasn’t here with you?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I wanted to share it with you.”

Crowley could melt with the way Aziraphale looked at him. He clutched at Aziraphale’s robes, tugging him into a soft kiss. It tasted like a cloud.

“Why don’t we go back down,” Crowley said, “and find a place to rest?”

Aziraphale agreed, so they began their descent. They took their time gliding down, swirling around in the air as they tried to find a suitable clearing to land.

Once they’d landed, they walked around the forests for a few minutes until Crowley found the perfect spot, underneath a tree where the leaves blanketed the floor. He sat down and leaned against the trunk of the tree and watched as Aziraphale shook out his wings. Crowley couldn’t imagine how long it must have been since the angel had groomed them.

Aziraphale caught him looking and shot him an embarrassed grin. “You know Eve helps me groom my wings.”

“I’m sure she does a bang-up job,” Crowley said with a gentle smile of his own. “Looks like it’s been a while, though.”

“I haven’t had a chance to keep them clean—everything has been happening so quickly.” Aziraphale twisted his hands. He looked like he wanted to ask something, but was unsure of how it would be received.

Crowley had a notion of what it might be, and decided to take the step for him.  “Do you want me to help you, angel?”

“You don’t mind?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley motioned for him to come closer. Aziraphale settled down in front of him. He spread out his wings and Crowley felt a rush of fondness at the sight of the feathers. He ran his hands through the soft quills. Aziraphale sighed. Crowley felt Aziraphale relax into his touch.

“I’ve wanted to do this,” Crowley murmured, “since I first saw how messy they were.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale said. Crowley could almost feel his smile. “Don’t you think that might have been a hint?”

“Well,” Crowley said, ears getting hot. “Possibly.”

Aziraphale laughed softly and let him continue. Crowley straightened the feathers and plucked out a couple of strays. All the while, Aziraphale talked. He mentioned Adam and Eve and how it would be nice to introduce him to them in better circumstances. Crowley thought that would suit him just fine.

After a lull in the conversation, Crowley asked, “Aren’t you worried about Jophiel?”

The angel hesitated. “Not particularly.”

“But you could—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said firmly, “if I were to Fall, I would have already. God knows all.”

Crowley took a moment to press his aura against Aziraphale’s; it was still reassuringly divine. Aziraphale could clearly feel Crowley probing at him, and he glanced back at him with a comforting smile.

“Whatever my punishment is to be, I’ll be able to handle it,” Aziraphale assured.

“It’s just,” Crowley said, pausing for a moment to chew on the inside of his cheek, “abandoning Heaven during the War and directly c _hallenging_ Heaven are two different things. I don’t think you’re going to get a slap on the wrist this time, angel.”

“I didn’t directly challenge _Heaven_ ,” Aziraphale said. “I challenged Jophiel. And he’s just angry because you proved him wrong, what with the curse breaking and all. I’m not afraid of him.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, overwhelmed. He leaned in and pressed his lips against the side of Aziraphale’s neck. He took in the angel’s scent and closed his eyes. “Aziraphale, I love you.”

Crowley had not put it so plainly to Aziraphale before. Aziraphale twisted away, dislodging Crowley, who let out a little sound of protest. He hadn’t quite finished grooming the angel’s wings yet and he’d been beginning to get comfortable.

He rested his head against Crowley’s shoulder and took his hand in his, entwining their fingers. Crowley felt Aziraphale’s wings wrap around the two of them like a blanket, and thought it was an acceptable compromise.

“I love you too, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley stroked the back of Aziraphale’s hand with his thumb, and they sat together in silence gazing up at the clouds in the sky. Aziraphale’s breath tickled against his neck, sweet and heavy. Crowley turned his head to see that the angel had miraculously fallen asleep.

The knowledge that Aziraphale trusted him enough to let himself doze off was almost too much to bear. After being so adamant that he would never allow himself to fall asleep again, Aziraphale was here, his face buried in Crowley’s neck.

Crowley brushed a few curly locks away from Aziraphale’s forehead and pressed a soft kiss there. He lay back against the tree trunk and didn’t move. He watched the sky for the rest of the day. He saw the first stars come out as evening drew near. The stars that Hell didn’t have. The stars that Aziraphale had missed.

He wouldn’t wake Aziraphale. The angel deserved his rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be the epilogue.


End file.
